


Are You Happy

by theabominablesnowman



Series: Make Happy [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Deputy Derek, Domestic Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Slice of Life, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8350363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theabominablesnowman/pseuds/theabominablesnowman
Summary: Stiles has been away for work for a little over two weeks, and Derek and their son are getting antsy about it. (Who wouldn't?)  Or, a few days in the life of the Hale-Stilinski family, and a whole lot of fluff.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First, I'd like to thank Jenn (@Reaping! go check out her stuff!) for being there from the very very beginning of this monster. You cheering and the fact that you read all my freak outs and all my excerpts and gave an honest opinion and general pushes in the right direction, and of course, reading it over and over (and over).
> 
> I'd also like to thank @Paintedrecs for all of her help with her meticulous beta reading, advice, and more mental support.
> 
> The title can be faulted completely to the amount of times I watched Bo Burnham's Make Happy on Netflix. If you haven't ever watched it - I recommend it if you're into laughing while your heart breaks. 
> 
> And finally, I mention Australia and Aboriginals here. Admittedly, I have zero knowledge about this. Whatever I mentioned here is a combination of my imagination and some Wikipedia. I tried to be as respectful as possible, but if anyone finds the very short mentions in here offensive/wrong in anyway, please feel free to let me know (I am happy to be educated on anything).
> 
> If you've survived this far, enjoy your reading, thank you for stopping by, and you're welcome to visit me on tumblr at itsaseasonalthing!

Derek stirs awake slowly, with something sharp but gentle scratching at his chest, like a kitten’s claws. He opens one eye to find his five year old son is dreaming, huffing quietly, claws extended. He's happy he chose not to wear a shirt to bed: since Oliver started shifting in his sleep six months ago, at least three of his shirts have been riddled with tiny tears that Oliver pulls into full blown holes in his sleep, Oliver’s claws are very sharp, but without bad intentions, they can’t do much damage. Derek likes looking at them: very pink and soft, almost bendable. He pushes Oliver’s dark, messy hair back from his face, smiling, and Oliver settles, snuggling further into Derek’s chest, nosing absently in his sleep.

 

Derek reaches behind him to his bedside table, trying not to push anything off until he finds his phone and checks the time. It’s only 6:10, so Derek can relax for another twenty minutes before he has to wake Oliver up and handle whatever issue he’ll raise today regarding Stiles’ extended absence. Stiles has been gone for over two weeks now, and it’s making both Oliver and Derek a little antsy. Derek takes a deep breath, reveling in the scent of his family, soaked into the very walls of the house, and gently turns to lie on his back, pulling Oliver on top of him. Oliver just starfishes on his chest, belly down, pushing his nose to Derek’s neck. Oliver, unlike his parents, is a very deep sleeper. The Sheriff says Stiles used to be just like that; Stiles always frowns a little when he does, probably thinking about all the things that led to him losing that ability.

 

Oliver smacks his lips and his claws retract after a deep breath. His breath is a little bit stale, even though Derek and Stiles make sure he brushes his teeth every morning and every night, but Derek loves it because it’s _his kid_ and he’s also _Stiles’_ and it’s the best thing he could have wished for in life. Oliver doesn’t sleep in their bed very often; usually he’s not even the one to initiate it, unless he’s seeking them out after waking from a nightmare. The rest of the time, it’s more Derek’s doing. He doesn’t like sleeping alone, especially when Stiles is gone for longer than a few days, so he occasionally grabs Oliver and makes it like a treat for him, something special only the two of them do when Stiles is away. Stiles’ absence makes both of them miserable, if he’s honest. Stiles’ scent is embedded in the very foundation of the house, and his emissary magic protects them all the time, but there’s a difference between what the scent is like when he’s physically there and when he’s gone. It throws Oliver off more than it does Derek, because routines are so infinitely important for children his age. He’s used to Stiles folding the laundry, so when he’s gone he complains it doesn’t smell the same and refuses to get dressed sometimes; he’s used to Stiles making his lunch for school, and finds a different excuse every day to explain why Derek’s lunches aren’t as good, even though Derek makes sure to do them the exact same way Stiles does. Oliver even says he misses the way Stiles does voices when he’s reading him his bedtime story. Derek doesn’t feel like a failed parent - he knows what Oliver is feeling. He remembers complaining about the same things when one of his parents was gone, remembers Cora throwing the most outrageous tantrums ever.

 

Usually they take turns doing all these things - but when Stiles is gone it throws Oliver off balance, and every time Derek has to do Stiles’ chores on “dad’s day,” Oliver just…makes it a tiny bit more difficult. Derek strokes his thumb down Oliver’s (Stiles’) ski-slope nose, then his cheekbone. Oliver frowns a little in his sleep, snuffling, so Derek places a comforting hand on his back, rubbing small circles.

 

When the alarm goes off, Oliver whines and Derek relates on a very deep level. “Come on, buddy. Time to get up for school,” he says quietly, sitting up, careful not to roll Oliver off of him. He takes a couple of minutes to sit and breathe in tandem with his son, still glued to his chest. “Hey, hey, none of that,” he reprimands gently when Oliver’s breathing starts to slow down, back to sleep again. “Up you get.” Derek places his hands on Oliver’s small waist and lifts, sitting up straighter and propping Oliver onto his own waist, before he stands. “Good morning, baby. Open those beautiful eyes for me, huh?” he whispers, shaking Oliver a little, watching as he un-glues his eyelids, fluttering them until they settle, and Oliver looks at him with a slightly unfocused gaze.

 

“Do I gotta go to school, daddy?” he whines, dropping his head on Derek’s shoulder like that’s the worst concept he ever had to consider.

 

“Have to,” Derek corrects quietly with a smile. “And yes, you do,” he adds. “Come on, let’s go brush your teeth and then get these Batman pajamas off, so you can choose your clothes for today, hmm? Which superhero are we going for today?” he asks, walking into the big bathroom across the hall and placing Oliver on a small stool with a steadying hand on his back.

 

“Ninja Turtles,” Oliver replies decisively, rubbing his eye with a small fist.

 

“Anyone specific?” Derek prompts and watches as Oliver considers this meaningful decision.

 

“Michelangelo,” Oliver announces. “Can we have pizza for dinner?” he asks as an afterthought, his mind zipping around just like Stiles’.

 

“No,” Derek says in a tone he _feels_ shouldn’t brook arguments.

 

“But daddy!” Oliver half turns and wobbles before Derek presses his hand to his shoulder, straightening him. He looks at Derek with some kind of cross between angry and imploring, and Derek presses his lips together.

 

“I said no, Ollie,” he holds firm, determined to not be undermined by Oliver’s big eyes.

 

“Dad would have said yes,” Oliver mumbles grumpily.

 

“No he wouldn’t, not if he knew we already had pizza this week.” Derek shakes his head as Oliver looks at him from the mirror.

 

“When is he coming back?” Oliver sounds so sad, it kind of breaks Derek’s heart. But he knows the face he’s pulling, with a wobbly lip and shiny eyes, and that face means Oliver is planning on trying to throw a tantrum, and demanding they call Stiles even though they talked before they went to sleep.

 

“Nope, not gonna fly this time, bud. Brush those teeth.” Derek points at Oliver’s Superman toothbrush and toothpaste, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

 

Oliver grumbles a little, a small growl escaping him, and takes the toothbrush, waiting patiently for Derek to put toothpaste on it. He opens his mouth wide and drops his fangs, making sure to brush them thoroughly. Derek tries to hide his laughter at just how cute that is; Stiles suggested Oliver do it, mostly as a joke, but Oliver took it as advice and Derek liked the way it taught Oliver to control them. For a five-year-old who only manifested as a werewolf six months ago, that was pretty impressive and Derek was not-so-secretly really, really proud.

 

Oliver’s toothbrush plays the Superman theme music for two minutes, with a timer, to encourage sufficient brushing. Oliver always starts humming along with it until Derek or Stiles put him back on track. Today he’s focused, brushing his teeth like they offended him. When the music stops playing, he spits out the foam, and Derek hands him a small plastic Superman cup filled with water to wash the rest of it out (Stiles bought the whole thing as a set - toothbrush, toothpaste, and cup - Derek had no choice in the matter). Derek smiles at him in the mirror once he’s done and places his arm in front of Oliver, allowing him to wrap his arms and legs around it so he can swing him back and forth while they walk together into Oliver’s room.

 

Oliver sniffs a little - he smells genuinely upset now, Derek notes - when he looks at the big world map Derek and Stiles hung up for him above his bed. “Show me where dad is on the map.”

 

Derek puts him down gently and lets him climb on top of the bed, pawing at the wall to balance himself out when the mattress wobbles under him. Oliver stares up at the map and finds the blue pin they always push into wherever it is Stiles happens to be. “I see you found him yourself,” Derek says quietly, kneeling on the bed next to him.

 

Oliver really does tear up this time. “He’s been away for years, I hate when he goes!” He pounds a hand on the wall and stomps his foot down. Derek relates, if he’s honest.

 

“He’s been away for a little more than two weeks,” he corrects quietly. “And yeah, I hate it too.” Derek sighs, and kisses the top of Oliver’s head, sniffing him. “Listen up, if you get ready for school without making a fuss, I’ll let you - ” Derek stops for tension, watches Oliver’s eyes narrow like he’s suspicious, the kaleidoscope of yellow, blue, gray and green that Derek is used to seeing in the mirror, staring directly into his. The squint reminds him so much of Stiles it hurts. “I’ll let you take one of your dad’s _shirts_ to school, _and_ I’ll ask your grandpa to come pick you up with the police cruiser, and you can go hang out with him until dinner.” Derek may have already planned this in advance anyway because he’s on shift at the station until late today.

 

“Can we have dinner with grandpa?” Oliver asks, finally excited for something.

 

Derek smiles and shakes his head minutely, huffing a quiet laugh. “We’ll see. He might have plans with Melissa.”

 

“Can _we_ have plans with Melissa? CAN SCOTT COME!!! DADDY PLEASE --”

 

Derek places a gentle hand on Oliver’s lips, raising his eyebrows when Oliver licks his palm, then shaking his head and wiping it on his son’s cheek as revenge. Oliver fake-gags at him. “I know Jesse is going to be there for a bit,” he says nonchalantly, like it doesn’t matter that Scott and Kira’s son, whom Oliver _adores_ , will be there too.

 

Oliver’s eyes go wide. “CAN JESSE --” he starts yelling again and Derek raises his eyebrows. Oliver goes quiet immediately.

 

“Jesse is not coming over when your dad’s not here, you know that.” Derek knows better than to have two very energetic young werewolves under his roof without a second adult.

 

Oliver starts to pout his lips, sniffles dramatically. Derek nips that in the bud. “If you don’t throw a tantrum and you get ready right now, _and_ be quick about it, I’ll make pancakes, _and_ we can facetime your dad while we’re in the car. Deal?”

 

Oliver perks up, tears immediately gone. “Deal!” He smiles toothily at Derek and scrambles off the bed, almost face-planting on the floor before Derek grabs his shirt. Derek rights him and lets him run off to the closet to pick out the Michelangelo t-shirt and matching jeans. Derek and Stiles made sure to place all of Oliver’s clothes in matching pairs, shirt and pants, so that Oliver can choose his t-shirt, but he doesn’t go around choosing purple shirts and green shorts (they learned the trick after way too many tantrums about clothing choices that were so awful they wanted to cry). Oliver climbs the shelves of the closet before Derek reaches him, but Derek grabs the clothes before Oliver can throw them on the floor (to allow himself to climb back down).

 

“You want to come get dressed in my room?” Derek asks. He needs to get ready for work too, and so far he hasn’t brushed his teeth or changed out of his sweatpants. Oliver runs off before Derek can say anything else.

 

Oliver watches avidly as Derek brushes his teeth. “Daddy, why don’t you brush your fangs like I do?” Derek dutifully drops them and brushes them too, flashing red eyes, to Oliver’s satisfied smile and answering yellow flash of eyes.

 

Derek washes out his mouth and looks at Oliver through the mirror. “Clothes, Ollie,” he reminds him and Oliver gets stuck in his pajama shirt in his haste to pull it off. Derek wipes his face on a towel and rescues him.

 

“Thought I was going to be stuck there for _ever_!” Oliver complains. Derek laughs and boops his nose before he walks over to his side of their wall-to-wall closet, pulling out a pressed uniform set.

 

Oliver pulls off his pajama pants and throws them behind him, in the vague direction of where he threw his shirt. They’ll have to work on that. Derek takes off his sweatpants and stands there in his boxers, watching Oliver’s little Spiderman-clad butt wriggle into his kiddy jeans for a minute before he goes to put on some socks and his own pants. He keeps an eye on Oliver while he puts on a tank top and fixes his hair, and pads over to stroke a gentle hand over Oliver’s hair, trying to tame it a little after the abuse it went through while Oliver put on his shirt.

 

After Derek makes the bed, with Oliver’s enthusiastic help, they take the stairs down together, Derek’s button-up deputy shirt on a hanger. He hangs it on one of the kitchen cupboards’ handles and turns to grab all the ingredients for pancakes. Oliver helps, grabbing the milk from the fridge. “Thanks, puppy,” Derek says absently as he takes it from him. Stiles started using that nickname when Oliver was tiny, a few months old. It started out as a fond joke about the full shift, and Derek wasn’t a fan at the beginning, but it grew on him. It was something cute and not entirely conventional, which definitely described Oliver. When he’s helping, Oliver knows better than to try and get the eggs. Werewolf or not, at this point, he’s still a lot more Stiles’ kid than they’re both willing to admit. Derek has started training him, but he’s going slowly with it, helping him hone his hearing and scenting before going into the more physical stuff. The healing process is a lot slower in children; it’s counter-intuitive, but it’s a fact. Oliver heals faster than most kids - but scrapes take an hour to close up instead of seconds.

 

Oliver chatters about kindergarten while Derek prepares the pancake mix, then comes over to stand on a stool next to Derek (far away from the hot pan) to watch. Derek hears more than sees Ollie walk to the fridge, take out chocolate chips, and walk back over.

 

“Chocolate chips are for Saturday mornings, you know that.” Derek says without looking away from flipping a pancake.

 

“But I miss dad,” Oliver tries. Derek ruffles his hair.

 

“Which is why, if you put those back now, we’ll facetime him in the car like I said,” he says with a tiny bit of an edge. Oliver knows how to pick his battles, and runs back to the fridge to put the chocolate chips back where they were. “That’s my smart kid,” Derek says as reward, pouring more pancake mix into the pan. Oliver glues himself to Derek’s leg, hugging it tightly. They stand like that until Derek finishes and places a plate with a small stack of pancakes in front of Oliver’s chair, and some scrambled eggs and bacon on a plate for himself. He fluffs up the pillow they use to help Oliver reach the table when he sits on the adult chairs and watches as Oliver hops on. He cuts up Oliver’s pancakes for him and watches him eat, then pours out a glass of orange juice for himself and uses a red plastic cup for Oliver.

 

When Oliver is finished, Derek places two pieces of bacon on his plate, extras that he prepared because he knew Oliver would want some. It also encourages a feeling of security in young werewolves, when parents ‘give up’ their food for their sake.

 

“Thanks daddy!” He smiles toothily, using his hands to eat it. Derek winces and hands him some napkins. When they’re both done, Derek places all the dishes in the sink and washes his hands, making sure Oliver does the same before his greasy hands get on anything else, like Derek’s deputy uniform shirt, which he buttons up while Oliver goes to pick up his school bag and grabs the lunch they made together last night from the fridge. He’s a little distracted tying his laces when Oliver stands in front of him, toes wiggling in his sandals. “Did I put them on right?” he asks, and Derek raises his head to smile at him.

 

“Yes you did,” he confirms. “Ready to go? Got everything you need?” he asks as he stands up, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Yep! Can we get in the car so I can facetime with dad?” He doesn’t even wait for an answer before he runs to the door to unlock it. Derek takes everything _he_ needs for the day, takes his gun out of the locked hallway closet, holsters it and then takes another look around making sure he didn’t leave anything on, before walking out after Oliver, locking up behind them.

 

Derek straps Oliver into his special booster chair, then facetimes Stiles, an apology ready on his tongue for waking him up in the middle of the night. Derek always make sure they leave the house around 8:00am so they get to Oliver’s school before 8:30. Since Stiles is in Australia, he’s 16 and a half hours ahead them, which would make it about 12:30am for him.

 

When the screen shows an image finally, it’s a very grainy, very dark one. He can see Stiles rubbing his eyes not unlike Oliver did just an hour ago. “Der’k? Is everythin’ okay? Is Ollie okay? My dad?”

 

“Everything is fine, Stiles,” Derek says, and then hands over the phone to Oliver, who screeches “DAD!”, making Stiles’ eyes blink open in surprise, head raised, before his expression softens into a smile, head dropping back onto the pillow.

 

“Hey, little dude! You giving your daddy a hard time? Whatcha doing facetiming me when I’m sleeping?”

 

“Daaaad, it’s morning! You’re not suppose’t’be sleeping!”

 

Derek makes sure Oliver’s strapped in safely then walks to the driver’s seat of the car, using the rearview mirror to back out of their driveway and watch Oliver talking to Stiles as they make their way to the school. He hears Stiles explain that it’s dark where he is. When Oliver asks why, Stiles launches into a surprisingly understandable explanation that Oliver can grasp. It takes most of the car ride, but that’s fine with Derek. He likes listening to Stiles and Oliver talking. There’s nothing more relaxing in the world.

 

Derek tunes back in when he hears Oliver sniffling. “But when are you coming back already?” Derek glances in the rearview mirror and catches him rubbing his eyes.

 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Ollie. I miss you too. I miss you so much I can’t even tell you. But there are people here who need help, and you know that’s what our family does, right? That’s our thing, we help people, yeah?” Stiles’ voice has a soothing cadence and Derek hears Oliver take a deep breath, sees him nod. “Do you remember when the next full moon is?” Stiles asks, and Derek sees Oliver nod again when he looks after he parks the car. “Well, I’ll be back a whole two days before that. You know I never miss a full moon, right?”

 

Oliver frowns in anger this time. “But that’s a whole week from now! It’s not fair!” Derek gets out of the car and opens the back door to release Oliver from his seat, helping him out of the car, hanging one of the small straps of the school bag on his own arm. Oliver still has a firm grip on Derek’s phone, where Derek can hear Stiles groan, and something that sounds like Stiles burying his head in the pillow.

 

“I know. I know, puppy. I’m sorry.” Stiles sounds resigned and Derek sighs, takes Oliver’s free hand in his and squeezes. “I didn’t think it would take this long, but there’s someone here who just won’t listen,” Stiles sighs again.

 

“Make him!” Oliver demands.

 

“It’s not that simple, puppy. You almost in your classroom, little dude?” Derek can hear how exhausted and exasperated Stiles is. He tells Derek every night how the pack territory negotiations he’s mediating are going (or not going), and it’s looking better, but it’s not close to being finished either.

 

Oliver looks up and then back at the phone again. “Yeah,” he replies quietly.

 

“Okay then, you better get going before you’re late,” Stiles prompts. “Have a nice day at school, yeah? Draw lots of drawings to show me when we Skype tonight, okay? And one for your grandpa to hang in his office.” There’s a smile in Stiles’ voice that Derek misses seeing in the flesh.

 

Oliver looks up at Derek miserably and Derek gives him a commiserating look back. “Say goodbye,” he prompts.

 

“Bye,” Oliver says dejectedly, and Derek watches Stiles’ face crumple when confronted with Oliver being so upset.

 

“I’m sorry, baby. Try and have a nice time at school, okay? Did your daddy give you something of mine and his to take with you today if you feel upset?” Stiles asks, and both Derek and Oliver nod. They found out that giving Oliver something - a piece of clothing, usually (a shirt like today is for special circumstances) - of theirs to have with him during the school day helps him relax and keep in control. He can lock in on their scent and focus on it until he’s feeling better. Being very young, he needs a more physical representation of his anchor. “I promise I’ll be home before you know it,” Stiles offers as an empty kind of platitude, and Oliver says “bye,” again quietly and hands Derek his phone after Stiles says it back, adding a heartfelt “I love you!” at the end.

 

Derek doesn’t disconnect the call and neither does Stiles, just waits patiently until Derek finishes saying goodbye to Oliver himself, then quietly speaks to his teacher, explaining, again, that they had a bit of a rough morning. Mrs. Johnson smiles and says she’ll make sure to let him know if anything comes up during the day.

 

Derek lifts the phone to his face and they look at each other for a moment. “You have to stop traveling so much. You’ve never been away for this long,” Derek sighs.

 

“It’s not like it’s for fun, Der. I get paid,” Stiles sighs in turn. They’ve had this conversation dozens of times already.

 

Derek scrubs a hand down his face, takes a deep breath. “I know,” he says, resigned. “Sorry for waking you up,” he apologizes belatedly. “He was cranky, and I promised him pancakes and facetime with you if he behaved and got ready for school on time.” Derek sits down in his car and places his phone in its holder, so Stiles can still watch him as he drives.

 

“Hey, that’s okay, babe. I’m never angry if I get to see the two of you,” Stiles says and Derek sees him smiling softly out of the corner of his eye, mostly focused on the road. “But I think it’s time I went back to sleep. Negotiations start back up early tomorrow,” he says and Derek sees him burrow into the blanket around him.

 

“Okay,” Derek says reluctantly, and makes no move to disconnect the call.

 

“Okay,” Stiles says, not making a move either. They both take deep breaths. “Have a good day at work, Der. Say hi to my dad,” Stiles sighs again.

 

“I will. I love you. Good night,” Derek says, waits for Stiles to repay the sentiment, and hangs up.

  


When Derek arrives at work the sheriff is just leaving. “You were on the phone with Stiles, I’m guessing?” he teases, and Derek groans.

 

“That obvious?”

 

“Yes. It’s also morning, Stiles has been gone for more than three consecutive days, and you don’t have any tear stains on your uniform shirt, which means Oliver got his way _before_ he even started crying.” John places a comforting hand on his shoulder, shakes it a little. “Cheer up, kid. He’ll be back soon.”

 

“Says it’s going to be another week, actually,” Derek corrects, dejected. He allows himself to mope around John, because John, unsurprisingly, commiserates.

 

“But I talked to him before he left, said it’d be a week, ten days at most!” John’s hands go to his hips, and he looks angry. “Dammit, he lied.”

 

“No, he really did think a week would be enough, but one of the Alphas just won’t budge. He promised he won’t miss the full moon, though,” Derek says quietly, trying not to be overheard.

 

“Wonder who gave him that stupid saviour complex,” John jokes half-heartedly, hands dropping from his hips and shoulders losing their tension.

 

“Wouldn’t know,” Derek rolls his eyes but smiles at John. “Go get some rest, Sheriff.” He nudges John towards the exit, waving at him. “You’ll need it if you’re going to be handling Oliver and Jesse all afternoon,” he laughs.

 

“Light of my life,” John sighs, with both affection and self-deprecation. “I’ll see you tonight, son. Keep safe.” He claps Derek on his shoulder one last time and makes his way out, probably going to join Melissa in sleeping after respective night shifts. Derek knows they usually align them for the purpose of still getting to spend time together.

 

Derek’s day is mostly uneventful; Beacon Hills has been surprisingly…quiet, in a small-townish kind of way, the last couple of years. Derek strongly suspects it has to do with Stiles inheriting Deaton’s job as Emissary and being absolutely terrifyingly good at it, but Stiles never agrees; not completely, anyway. He says that it’s only a part of the truth, and refuses to explain the rest, and Derek thinks it’s because he did something dangerous and stupid and doesn’t want to get in a fight with Derek over it if he tells him. Derek has a lot of theories regarding how Beacon Hills suddenly became the calm little town it never was, and how at the very same time, Stiles’ name spread far and wide across the world as someone who deals in treaties, peace agreements, and is very, very scary, if required. Derek never got the chance to witness any of the legends he hears whispered about his husband, but he doesn’t doubt them. Even Oliver knows that Stiles is the dad you don’t mess with. Derek is happy being the soft one who falls for the puppy dog eyes every time.

 

At around 3:30pm John texts Derek with a lopsided, slightly out of focus picture of himself and Oliver, and lets him know that Oliver had a great day at school and that they’re on their way home. Something in Derek that he didn’t realize was tensed settles, and he slumps a little in his seat, writing up paperwork at his desk. He forwards the picture to Stiles and Stiles sends him three hearts and then a picture of himself rolling his eyes, telling him about this stubborn Alpha that he has to convince to give up some territory that wasn’t really his anyway, because it was Aboriginal land.

 

 _“Did you know that the Aboriginals aren’t werewolves? They’re werethylacines, which is probably the coolest animal I’ve ever seen. They’re MARSUPIALS_ , _Derek. They’re supposed to be extinct, but that’s mostly because, you know, the Supernatural is frowned upon.”_

 

Derek shakes his head and chuckles quietly at Stiles’ text. _“I didn’t know,”_ he texts back.

 

 _“I’ll send you pics. Seriously, it’s called the Tasmanian Wolf. It’s SO cool. And they can all full-shift! They don’t even have a beta shift. That’s how cool they are.”_ Stiles sends three consecutive pictures of him standing with three animals that look like a cross between a large dog and a tiger and Derek is honestly impressed.

 

_“Please concentrate on finishing this stupid thing so you can come home faster.”_

 

_“Don’t feel bad because you’re just a Californian wolf, babe. You’re the only shifter for me.”_

 

 _“I never said I did.”_ Derek is maybe lying just a little bit. Those Tasmanian wolves _do_ look really cool.

 

 _“Your complete deflection said it for you ;)”_ The text is accompanied by a picture of Stiles actually winking and Derek makes it his phone background immediately. He looks at the little crows feet around Stiles’ eyes and smiling mouth and smiles, because those are the tiny signs that Stiles has been happy for a while. He likes it.

 

 _“How is the treaty going?”_ Derek texts him, hoping for a good sign.

 

Stiles sends a sad face, alongside an angry one, and then another text. _“Like shit. I think this asshole Alpha is being obtuse and racist on purpose at this point. I can’t think of another reason why someone would be this horrible. I just want to come home :( But I’m kind of invested now.”_

 

“As usual,” Derek sighs quietly to himself. _“Can’t you scare him into doing what you want?”_

 

_“That sounds like 2012 Derek Hale and I am way more into my softy husband.”_

 

It took Derek and Stiles a long time and a lot of separate and joint therapy sessions to get to a place where that would be a joke between them, so Derek can smile about it if he wants. _“If you do end up scaring that asshole into doing what you want can you please get it on video?”_

 

_“Why?”_

 

_“Always wondered what it looked like. Probably impressive, if people in Australia are scared of you.”_

 

_“DOES THAT TURN YOU ON???”_

 

 _“No comment.”_ Derek blushes up to the roots of his hair and sinks deeper into his chair hoping that no one will notice. Stiles knows him too well.

 

_“WHY HAVE YOU NOT SAID ANYTHING BEFORE!!!”_

 

 _“Idk, Stiles, we have a 5yo werewolf in the house and if you started doing… magic stuff at random and I got… interested... I’m not about to explain to Oliver what he’s scenting. And that kid has a really sensitive nose.”_ Oliver can smell things from miles away if the wind is blowing in the right direction. Derek’s been teaching him how to catch the right direction all the time. A few weekends ago they went to the preserve with Scott, Jesse, and Kira. Kira was left with Jesse, and Stiles with Oliver, to keep an eye on them, and Scott and Derek ran to the other side of the preserve a couple of hours earlier. It only took Oliver fifteen minutes to track Derek, but it took Jesse closer to half an hour, which would make more sense considering they’re both young and get easily distracted. Derek used to have the strongest sense of smell in his family too; he’d always win the little competitions their mother set for them, when she was teaching them how to track by scent.

 

_“Just like his daddy.”_

 

_“Just like his aunt, actually.”_

 

_“Come on, same superb gene pool. Exactly the reason we asked her to help out. I knew our kid could sift through and pick the right stuff. Like your eyes.”_

 

_“You’re way too far away to be hitting on me with lines about my eyes.”_

 

_“:( party pooper.”_

 

_“FOCUS ON THE TREATY AND GET HOME ALREADY”_

 

_“Don’t yell at me, I’ll call the police.”_

 

_“I am the police.”_

 

_“I know ;)”_

 

_“So is your dad.”_

 

_“WHY DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN EVERYTHING”_

 

_“Let me work in peace.”_

 

_“You thrive on our texting.”_

 

Derek won’t admit that it’s true. _“I’d rather you be home already, Stiles.”_

 

_“Ok, ok. It’s only 8 here. I’m having breakfast. We started at 7. I forced them. Thought maybe lack of sleep will make them want to hurry it up.”_

 

_“And?”_

 

_“They suck.”_

 

Derek laughs. _“Seriously, just do the scary druid thing.”_

 

_“You just want to see it because it turns you on ;)”_

 

 _“Shut up.”_ Derek sends a mature reply and smiles down at his phone for the tenth time.

 

_“Ok, gotta go for real. See you on Skype.”_

 

Derek just sends him a heart and Stiles sends one back because he has to have the last word. Derek is pulling a double because Parrish and O’Brien are on vacation for a few days, so he doesn’t get out until around 7:00pm. It would mean a late dinner for Oliver, unless Melissa and John broke down and fed him before Derek arrived, which he knows they did because he can smell the mac and cheese from the driveway when he parks his car.

 

The front door bursts open before Derek even shuts the car door and he has Oliver hugging him around the legs seconds later. Derek picks him up, propping him up on his hip and smiling at him before Oliver buries his nose in Derek’s neck, scenting him. Derek rubs his cheek against Oliver’s hair. “Missed you too, puppy. Did you leave me any mac and cheese?” he whispers into Oliver’s hair and Oliver raises his head and nods enthusiastically.

 

“Jesse wan’ed to eat everything but I told him no because you have to eat too and you love grandpa’s mac and cheese.”

 

“I see. Thank you, baby. I appreciate it,” Derek says gravely. “Is Jesse still here?” he asks as he walks through the door and closes it behind them.

 

“Can’t you smell, daddy? He went home ages ago. Scott took him.” Oliver gives him a condescending look, like he can’t fathom that Derek didn’t figure it out. Derek may have asked the question on purpose.

Derek walks into the kitchen where John is washing dishes and Melissa is sitting at the table with a cup of tea.

 

“Saved you a plate.” John points him to it where it sits on the counter.

 

“So I’ve heard,” Derek says and puts Oliver down gently, taking the plate and unwrapping the aluminum foil from the top.

 

Oliver brings him a fork and scrambles to sit on the chair next to Derek’s. “Thanks, puppy.” He scrubs a hand over Oliver’s hair, making it stick up every each way.

 

John wipes his hands on a towel and sits across from Derek, next to Melissa. “Anything exciting happen?” he asks kindly, smiling softly as he watches Derek bring a forkful into his mouth.

 

Derek shakes his head. “Not even a speeding ticket,” he replies after he finishes his bite. Melissa chuckles softly, and John leans back in his chair, placing his arm around Melissa.

 

“Hear anything from Stiles?” Melissa asks as she leans over to pour Derek a glass of water from the bottle on the table.

 

Derek nods while he finishes another bite, then thanks Melissa. There’s something about the taste of the Stilinski family recipe for mac and cheese he’s just addicted to, and he can’t trace which ingredient it is. John won’t tell, and Stiles knows, but refuses to reveal it too. Oliver steals a piece from his plate and sticks it in his mouth and Derek bends down to kiss the top of his head. He stands up and goes to take a plate and fork from the drying rack, transfers some of what he has on his plate and places it in front of Oliver. “He says it’s still not going great,” Derek sighs eventually. “Trying to talk him into scaring them into doing what he wants.”

 

John looks at him skeptically. “Can he do that?”

 

“Definitely,” Derek says gravely and goes back to his food.

 

“Why doesn’t he, then?” Melissa asks and John scoffs.

 

“Because he’s stubborn and he wants to do it the right way. A true Stilinski.” John shakes his head, wiping his hand over his forehead in that way Stiles does too when he’s frustrated or thinking deeply.

 

Melissa chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Definitely sounds like the two of you.” Derek nods at her understandingly, and she laughs. “Don’t give me that look, you’re just like them,” she says. “Like a native born Stilinski. Probably worse in terms of being stubborn.”

 

Derek gives her an offended look. “That’s --”

 

“The absolute truth,” John says with a smile.

 

“I like it better when you’re ganging up on Stiles and I can join,” Derek grumbles. “What do you think?” he nudges Oliver, who’s very focused on his plate.

 

“I think you and dad are the best,” Oliver replies without looking up, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and Derek’s chest expands with a million different emotions.

 

“You smell really happy,” Oliver notes, finally looking up, smiling.

 

“What you said made me really happy,” Derek admits, polishing off the last of his meal. “Wanna head home, baby? Your dad’s going to be on Skype soon, and you need to take a bath before that,” he says quietly, petting Oliver’s hair, stopping at his nape and rubbing his thumb back and forth there.

 

Oliver considers it for a second. He looks tired from a long day, and leans against Derek’s side. “Yeah, we can go home. Thank you for the mac and cheese grandpa. And thanks for the chocolate, Melissa,” Oliver says dutifully, and John turns to Melissa with a betrayed expression.

 

“ _That’s_ why they were hyper the entire afternoon?” he asks, outraged.

 

Derek laughs. “You’re really doing good on the whole grandma thing, sneaking candy to the kids,” he teases. Melissa shrugs, a mischievous smile on her lips. He stands up, places his plate in the sink with a small pang of guilt. “Thanks for dinner,” he says, smiling at John and Melissa, before he turns to Oliver and picks him up. Oliver grabs onto him like an octopus, arms going around his shoulders, legs around his waist, and head on Derek’s chest.

 

“You’re always welcome, son,” John says with a fond smile, placing a hand on Derek’s arm while he pets Oliver’s hair. “I’ll see you soon, kiddo. Tell your dad I said hi.” He squeezes Oliver’s shoulder one last time and walks them to the door, where Derek grabs Oliver’s backpack from the hanger, flinging it over his shoulder.

 

“Grandpa, are you gonna put my drawing on the wall?” Oliver asks when Derek turns his back to leave and Oliver has a view of John.

 

“Of course I am. Front and center where everyone who walks into my office can see,” John assures him, and Derek turns to smile silently at him. The Sheriff’s office walls are chock full of drawings that belong to Stiles and Scott’s school days, with yellowing pages and faded colors, as well as Oliver and Jesse’s new ones. Derek sometimes goes to sit there just to study them again and again. “Good night, guys.”

 

“Good night John, Melissa,” Derek says and waves, and Oliver waves too. Melissa keeps them another moment to kiss the top of Oliver’s head and then they head to Derek’s car, where Derek straps Oliver in his booster seat and they drive home. Derek tries to get Oliver to talk, tell him about his day, and Oliver does, but he’s obviously tired.

 

When they get home, Derek slowly turns on the lights in the entrance hallway, places Oliver’s backpack in its designated place after taking out his little folder of drawings and then helps Oliver take off his sandals before taking off his own shoes and locking his gun in its place in the hallway closet. Then he turns on all the lights leading the way to Oliver’s bedroom, where they pick a fresh pair of pajamas and then head to the bathroom. Derek leaves Oliver’s folder on his bed.

 

“Bubbles or no bubbles today?” Derek asks, stripping Oliver carefully.

 

“Always yes to bubbles,” Oliver scoffs. Derek chuckles quietly and adds the bubble soap to the filling tub.

 

“Right, right,” Derek agrees, watches Oliver climb into the tub with a careful hand hovering behind him just in case. He lets Oliver play a little, asks him more questions about school and the drawings he made today during art time.

 

“I drew you and dad and our house and trees,” he describes. “And I drew grandpa and Melissa for grandpa’s office. And I drew Superman. And Batman. I like Batman,” Oliver rambles, and Derek lets his eyes drift closed for a few minutes, reveling in Oliver’s chattering. “Don’t fall asleep, daddy, you still gotta wash my hair, because I don’t like when the water gets in my eyes.” Oliver slaps a wet hand on Derek’s arm, leaving his sleeve covered in foam.

 

“I’m not sleeping. I just like listening to you telling me stories.” Derek opens his eyes and smiles at him, gathering some foam in his hand and gently placing it on Oliver’s chin, giving him a little beard. Oliver splutters and laughs. Derek stands up, stretching his legs, then crouches down to help Oliver wash, letting the water from the tub drain. Derek rinses Oliver off, then blindly grabs for his Captain America towel, wrapping him up like a burrito and carrying him over to his bedroom. He towels Oliver dry, then watches as he dresses in his underwear and the pajama pants, and happily helps Oliver with the shirt. Today it’s Iron Man, which Derek likes better, but he’s forbidden from mentioning it because the last time Stiles and Derek fought about DC versus Marvel, before they got married, they didn’t talk for a week. Oliver’s wardrobe and different belongings are equally divided between Marvel and DC (depending on who bought them).

 

After Derek combs Oliver’s hair before it dries messy and stays like that until the next bath, they walk together to Stiles and Derek’s bedroom, where Derek keeps his laptop. Derek takes off his button up shirt and tank top, then his pants, and puts on the pair of sweatpants he wore last night. He’ll change them after he showers once he puts Oliver to sleep.

 

Oliver looks like he’s deep in thought before he asks, “Why is Melissa not dad’s mom if she’s married to grandpa?” He thunks down on the bed to sit, looking at Derek like it’s a thought he had a million times but never dared voice, somehow able to tell Stiles and the Sheriff might not appreciate it, or at least be sad about it.

 

“Well, before grandpa and Melissa were married, grandpa was married to a beautiful woman called Claudia. She was your dad’s mom. And Melissa was married to Scott’s dad,” Derek explains gently.

 

“Are they gone like your mom and dad?” Derek can tell by the look on Oliver’s face that he’s not sure he likes where this is going, but, just like Stiles, is too curious for his own good.

 

Derek takes a fortifying breath, closing his eyes for a second. He wishes Stiles was here for this. “Claudia is gone like my mom and dad, yes. She’s been gone even longer than them. But Scott’s dad and Melissa just didn’t get along, so they said goodbye to each other and Scott’s dad went to live somewhere else. It happens sometimes. Like Daphne from your class.”

 

Oliver looks down at his hands in his lap. “That’s not going to happen to you and dad, right?”

 

“No, of course not!” Derek grabs one of Oliver’s small shoulders, getting him to look up at him. “Hey, just because dad is gone sometimes, it does not mean that’s going to happen, okay, baby?” He sighs again. “I get why you’re worried, puppy. But that’s not the case. We love each other _and you_ very, very much,” he assures him gravely. He takes another deep breath, wondering how he’s always the one stuck having these conversations when Stiles is gone. “We forgot to pick a story to read, and your drawings folder! Wanna go grab those from your room?” Derek says for distraction and Oliver nods, looking more awake than he has since they left John and Melissa’s house. He scrambles off of Stiles and Derek’s king sized bed, and runs to his bedroom. He returns with a well-worn, beloved copy of The Gruffalo. Derek knows there is growling in his future. Oliver probably outgrew that book about two years ago, but Derek thinks it comforts him to hear something he knows so well. Neither he nor Stiles ever comment on his book choices.

 

Derek sits on the bed and waits until Oliver is seated comfortably in his lap, leaning against his chest where Derek is half lying down, before he boots up his laptop. Barely a minute passes before the familiar Skype ringtone is playing, like Stiles has been waiting impatiently to call them, and Derek answers the video call, smiling in automatic response to Stiles’ sunny grin.

 

“How are my two favorite people in the whole world?” Stiles asks merrily, leaning close to the screen. Derek can see his eyes roaming around the screen, probably studying their image, committing it to memory. “Hey Ollie, what does your daddy smell like right now?” Stiles likes asking this question; because he doesn’t have the heightened sense of smell, he often has Oliver translate it for him. It’s good practice for Oliver, and Stiles always likes knowing more about a situation. Stiles sometimes asks Derek to translate the chemosignals he can sense, but he prefers to turn to Oliver, who doesn’t have as many filters as Derek, or the knowledge of what basic manners are.

 

“Daddy smells kind of sad and happy at the same time. He smells like missing you feels.” Oliver is more thoughtful than sad, Derek notes. He holds him a little tighter anyway.

 

Stiles’ face crumples, and he pinches his nose. “Shit,” he mumbles, but he’s Skyping two werewolves, and they both catch it. Derek gives him an unimpressed frown, and Oliver claps with glee.

 

“DAD SAID A REALLY BAD WORD SO I GET A DOLLAR!!!” John was the one who started the ‘swear jar’ even though Stiles and Derek didn’t really want one. Stiles believes in exposing children to everything, within moderation and common sense, and explaining what’s appropriate and what’s not. He believes that educating Oliver would make him less likely to do things they disapprove of than just plain forbidding him, which antagonizes kids. When he explained it to Derek, Derek just stared at him for a whole minute then kissed him for another ten.

 

Stiles cracks a smile and a short bark of laughter escapes him. “You know that only works at your grandpa’s house,” he chides ruefully.

 

“Shit,” Oliver says, with intention. Stiles full on laughs this time, and Derek bangs the back of his head against the headboard. He can’t believe his five-year-old kid knows how to use the word ‘shit’ in the correct context.

 

Stiles interrupts his thoughts. “Now _you_ owe _us_ a dollar,” he announces, and Oliver looks outraged.

 

“But you said the jar’s only at grandpa’s!”

 

“I’m joking, baby. You know you can say it as long as it’s around me and daddy.” His laughter dies down a little. “So, how was school? What did you do today?” Stiles asks, chin in hands, arms leaning over the table he’s sitting at.

 

“We fed the silk worms today and one of them turned into a cocoon! And we dug up the potatoes we planted! And...and I drew lots of drawings, and one for grandpa’s office like you said, and we played t-ball today when we were outside and I did a home run!!!” Oliver rambles on and on until Derek stops him on that last part.

 

“You didn’t tell me that,” he protests weakly, more offended than he’s willing to admit.

 

Oliver tilts his head, looking suspicious, and then turns to very obviously sniff at Derek, then freezing up for a few seconds to analyze the information he’s gathered, raising wide eyes up to look at him. “I’m sorry daddy, I was tired and I forgot,” he apologizes.

 

Derek mentally shakes himself. “That’s okay, baby, sorry. That’s just really exciting, I’m really proud of you!” He hugs him tightly and kisses his temple.

 

Stiles is smiling softly, wistfully at them through the screen. “I’m real proud of you, too, puppy. Maybe you should join the softball team, huh? Think you’d like that?”

 

Oliver looks excitedly between Derek and Stiles. “Can I?” he asks timidly. They’ve considered it before but Derek was afraid Oliver might not be able to keep in control, although that isn’t an issue, apparently. What might pose a problem is the extra strength, stamina, and agility that Oliver can’t really control yet and they won’t be able to explain.

 

“We’ll see, Ollie. Let’s show your dad the drawings you brought home today, yeah?” Derek urges, placing the folder in Oliver’s hands. Oliver quickly opens it and pulls out the drawings from today.

 

“This is you and daddy and me and our house,” Oliver explains, pointing at the three stick figures and the lopsided house on the page he’s holding out for Stiles to see. He turns so Derek can see too. “I gave you red eyes, daddy!” he points cheerfully. Derek tries not to think what Mrs. Johnson thought about that.

 

“I love it,” Stiles’ slightly tinny voice comes through the speakers and Oliver turns back to face him. “Anything else?”

 

Oliver looks through the papers and chooses another one. “I drew our forest where we go on the full moon,” he explains the drawing he holds up. “That’s a full moon,” Oliver starts again, pointing at a blank circle he drew with a black crayon. “That’s a squirrel.” He points at a light brown blob on the bottom of the page. “And that’s a rabbit,” he continues, “and this is daddy,” he finishes, pointing at a black, vaguely dog shaped form in the middle between the four trees he drew. They’ve explained to Oliver that he can’t tell anyone about werewolves, but Derek still hopes that when Oliver was asked if that was the family dog, he didn’t say, “No, that’s my daddy.”

 

“Dude that’s amazing! Derek, you gotta put that on our wall.” Stiles grins happily through the screen and Derek’s heart skips a beat.

 

“Will do,” he confirms. “And I think it’s time for our story. Don’t you?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly at Oliver.

 

“What are we reading tonight?” Stiles asks and Oliver whips out The Gruffalo and shows it to the camera. “Ah, a classic. Think you can growl louder than daddy yet, little dude?” Stiles challenges, and Oliver shakes his head seriously.

 

“Nope, daddy’s growl is the best and the loudest. It’s louder than everyone’s. Even Scott!” he says with conviction and Derek preens a little at the praise.

 

“Mmmhmm, I too appreciate your daddy’s growl,” Stiles concurs and winks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Derek who frowns at him angrily. Not. Appropriate. Mostly not fair.

 

“Stiles,” he warns.

 

“What, it’s the truth!” Stiles raises his hands in the universal sign for “I’m innocent” but his smirk says otherwise.

 

“I don’t like that I can’t hear your heartbeat and tell if you’re lying over the computer,” Oliver complains, looking up at Derek to confirm that it’s a reasonable feeling.

 

Derek nods in agreement. “Not a fan of it either,” he sighs.

 

“I love how after fifteen years of werewolves that makes total sense to me and isn’t creepy at all. Mostly just makes me miss you guys some more.”

 

“But dad, you’re like…” Oliver starts to protest and then trails off, looks up at Derek. “How old is dad?” he asks in a stage whisper and Derek watches Stiles stifle his laugh.

 

“Thirty-one,” Derek answers.

 

“Whoa,” Oliver exclaims. “Dad you’re so old!”

 

Stiles stops laughing abruptly. “I am _not_ old! I’m in my prime,” he protests, as if the sentence will mean anything to Oliver. “Besides, daddy’s older,” he huffs. “A whole six years.”

 

Oliver counts on his fingers silently, then turns wide eyes onto Derek. “ _You’re thirty-seven?_ ”

 

Derek rolls his eyes at the ceiling. “Yes. But you were saying something that has to do with your dad’s age,” Derek steers him back to his original question.

 

“Oh, right. Dad, if you’re thirty-one, then how come you’ve only known werewolves for fifteen years?” Oliver leans forwards towards the screen, studying Stiles.

 

Stiles exchanges a quiet glance with Derek. “Well,” he hesitates, “I only found out about werewolves when I was sixteen,” he says eventually. “I’ll tell you about it sometime,” he promises. “But now I think there’s some other story waiting to be told.” He smiles, points next to Oliver where The Gruffalo is.

 

Oliver looks at him for a moment, trying to figure out something he doesn’t voice, and eventually leans back against Derek’s chest, handing him the book. Derek takes a deep breath, opening the book and starting to read. He growls in all the right places, and Stiles joins in with different voices in the parts he already has memorized. By the time they’re done, Oliver is fighting to keep his eyes open, refusing to say goodbye to Stiles.

 

“Ollie, baby. You have to go sleep,” Stiles begs. “You’ll be tired at school,” he explains.

 

“But then you’ll go!” Oliver protests again, and he sounds like he’s about to cry. Derek knows it’s about eighty percent tiredness, but it’s still heartbreaking.

 

“I promise we’ll talk tomorrow morning, okay? I’ll call daddy tomorrow morning and we’ll wake you up together.” Stiles checks with Derek with a quick look, and Derek nods.

 

Oliver’s voice shakes and he wipes at his eyes. “Promise?”

 

“Super promise. Right, Derek?” Stiles looks like he’s about to cry too and Derek isn’t strong enough for this right now.

 

“Yes. Super promise. Say goodnight, baby.” Derek squeezes Oliver’s shoulders, kissing the back of his head.

 

“G’night,” Oliver slurs a little, sniffling. Derek slides from behind him and picks him up, hugging him close. Oliver looks behind him where Stiles is waving through the screen.

 

“Good night, puppy. We’ll talk tomorrow,” Stiles says quietly and Derek signals for him to wait while he goes to put Oliver down.

 

It takes twenty minutes before Oliver is settled enough, breathing slowed down, so Derek can go back.

 

“This is a nightmare,” Stiles says, his voice muffled through where his head is buried in his crossed arms on top of the table. “I’m never leaving again,” he says, and it sounds…resigned, but a lot less so than usual.

 

“You always say that,” Derek huffs.

 

“I mean it this time. If they want my services, they can come to me,” Stiles declares. “I’m done with this crap, it’s not fair to Ollie, it’s not fair to you. It’s not fair to _me_.” He looks determined.

 

Derek’s seen this face before. Stiles means business. But he’s still a little skeptical. “You mean it,” he says quietly.

 

“Yes. I’ll finish this treaty properly, but it’s the last time I travel for things like this. You don’t deserve this. _I_ don’t deserve this,” Stiles huffs angrily.

 

“No, we don’t,” Derek agrees, awed and excited.

 

“I miss you,” Stiles sighs after a short pause of them just looking at each other.

 

“You’ll be here soon,” Derek says with a small smile.

 

“Yeah. I will.” Stiles looks determined again, sporting that expression Derek knows means he’s thinking up some sort of plan. It’s one of his favorite expressions to see on Stiles’ face, so Derek just smiles dopily at him. He listens for Oliver for a moment after hearing his heartbeat pick up, the rhythm of his breathing change, going a little too fast for him to be asleep. “What?” Stiles asks, watching him curiously. “What are you listening to?”

 

“Ollie,” Derek replies absently, still tuned into their son. His breathing is slowing back down. He was probably dreaming, then. “Thought he was awake for a second,” he explains.

 

“Oh, that would’ve ruined the plans I had for this Skyping session,” Stiles smirks at him and wiggles his eyebrows.

 

Derek scoffs. “You know I don’t like that. It’s like watching weirdly specific porn with some sort of clone of you,” he huffs, and Stiles breaks into a peal of laughter.

 

“Your descriptions of reasons you hate Skype sex keep getting better. I’ll keep joking about it.” Stiles’ smile is teasing now in a different kind of way and Derek melts, chuckles softly. “I can’t believe you keep falling for it,” Stiles continues.

 

“I can’t read any of the signals I’m used to having, I’m basically blind and deaf through this thing.” Derek waves a hand at the computer. “And obviously, I can’t smell anything. I think that’s by far the worst,” he sighs.

 

Stiles starts laughing. “So basically you experience being a regular old human when we’re Skyping.” The smile suddenly falls from his face. “God, I remember when you actually did lose your mojo. I was so scared,” he says quietly. “And then when you almost died and then went all werewolf Jesus with the full shift, fuck.” He buries his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with his thumbs.

 

“Stop calling it that,” Derek chides, tries to put a smile back on Stiles’ face.

 

It works. “I’ll call you werewolf Jesus as much as I want,” he declares. “I can’t wait until Ollie learns how to do that. That’ll be the cutest thing in the world. I already melt when he sprouts those ridiculous sideburns when he goes into beta-shift,” he laughs, gesturing at his own cheeks with his hands, pretending to pull on non-existent sideburns.

 

Derek chuckles against his will. Those _are_ funny. Then he remembers he has work tomorrow and sighs. “I should go to bed,” he says reluctantly.

 

Stiles frowns. “Dammit,” he sighs. “Okay. I’ll see you in a few hours,” he says, meaning to make a clean break (otherwise they’ll never stop talking). “Good night, babe.” He presses two fingers to his lips and then to the camera.

 

Derek repeats the gesture. “Good night. I love you.” He waits, like always, for Stiles to repay the sentiment, and disconnects the call. He shuts his laptop and stands, stripping on his way into the adjoined bathroom. There’s a big tub as well as a shower stall, and Derek goes for the stall. The tub is for sharing. He takes a quick, almost boiling hot shower, and when he’s finished, he stands in front of the sink to brush his teeth. He studies his own face, mapping out new wrinkles he can find and searching for new grey hairs other than the few he knows he already has in his beard.

 

He falls into bed, only realizing how tired he is when he hits the mattress. When he finally turns off the reading lamp on his nightstand, he can suddenly hear Oliver’s bed creaking, then small feet making their way into his bedroom. He flashes red eyes so he can see better, and watches Oliver’s answering yellow, opening welcoming arms when Oliver climbs onto the bed.

 

“Bad dream?” he whispers into Oliver’s hair, feels him nod his head minutely. “That’s okay, I like having you here,” he reassures, and Oliver settles into Derek’s side, small palm on Derek’s ribs. “You can always come to me.” Derek listens to Oliver breathe for a moment, pressing a hand to his back to calm him down. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks quietly.

 

“I dreamed that dad didn't come back because the werewolves in Australia ate him. He keeps saying they're mean.”

 

Derek doesn't correct the word Oliver used. He's not entirely sure it's wrong. “Your dad is so powerful, his magic is so strong, that people know about it everywhere,” Derek says confidently, looking Oliver straight in the eye. Oliver tilts his head to the side and Derek knows it means he's listening to Derek’s heartbeat, trying to catch him in a lie. He's surprisingly good at it when he wants. Derek was surprised that Oliver even picked it up without his help but then again, this kid is his and Stiles’. Of course he did. “People know about him even all the way in Australia. No werewolf with a brain will dare to try and harm him. And even if they did try, because they're very stupid, they can't hurt him. He's just that strong.”

 

“You promise?” Oliver asks timidly.

 

“Super promise. Cross my heart,” and Derek does.

 

“So he's stronger than _you_?” Now Oliver just sounds doubtful because he thinks Derek is the strongest person on the planet. Derek loves it, but he knows giving Oliver this reassurance is more important right now.

 

“In some ways. He's a lot scarier than me when he needs to be. _If_ there's a dangerous situation. You've seen him when he's angry,” Derek says lightly, pushing Oliver's hair away from his face.

 

Oliver nods thoughtfully. “I remember when Jason was mean to me in school and dad yelled at Principal Jefferson. It was cool.”

 

Derek laughs quietly. “It was,” he agrees. Stiles was livid. On a human kid, the bruises Oliver came home with would be a lot bigger and a lot more painful, but Stiles and Derek had to teach Oliver to never fight back, to avoid having to explain why a simple, angry shove can throw a kid across the room. “So. You good to go back to sleep?” he asks to make sure, even though Oliver yawns expansively, hand lazily covering his mouth.

 

Oliver just nods and presses his nose to Derek’s body, breathing deeply. “Thank you daddy,” he mumbles, almost incoherent.

 

“My pleasure, baby. Good night,” Derek whispers into Oliver’s hair and hears Oliver's breaths slowing to match his own. They fall asleep together without realizing they have.

 

~~~~~

 

Derek’s eyes open when his phone starts playing Stiles’ ringtone at 6:30am sharp. Oliver is instantly awake - he knows the ringtone and what it means - and he climbs over Derek to get to it. Derek’s breath is punched out of him when Oliver knees him in the sternum.

 

“DAD! Dad you called!” Oliver sounds so excited and Derek just kind of basks in the scent of Oliver’s sheer happiness after he gets his breath back. He turns to lie on his back so Oliver can rest comfortably on top of him while he talks to Stiles.

 

“I promised I would,” Stiles reminds him. “Did you sleep in our bed?”

 

“Had a bad dream,” Oliver explains solemnly.

 

“Want to tell me?” Stiles asks carefully. Bad dreams are more Derek’s area usually. Stiles handles other problems, usually people problems.

 

Oliver considers for a moment. “Dreamed the scary wolves in Australia ate you,” he eventually says. “Daddy showed me pictures of them,” he explains.

 

Stiles chuckles. “Not a chance, kiddo. Wolves can’t hurt me. And the ones in the pictures are my friends,” he assures him.

 

“That’s what daddy said,” Oliver nods thoughtfully.

 

“That’s because daddy knows,” Stiles says, a note of mystery in his voice. “So. What are we wearing today?” he asks with a tired smile, straight to the point. Derek peeks from around Oliver so he can see Stiles.

 

Oliver looks between Stiles and Derek, thinking. “I want something red,” he decides eventually, and Derek preens a little. Oliver usually chooses red when he’s thinking about Derek. Stiles chuckles again. He knows it too.

 

“Well, now that I’ve done my job and you guys are awake, _I_ should get to sleep. I had a lot of work today and I have a lot of work tomorrow,” Stiles sighs. He leans back towards the headrest of the bed he’s sitting on, and yawns.

 

“New tactic?” Derek asks, curious.

 

“Something like that,” Stiles says evasively and Derek lets it go. Stiles will tell him eventually. He’ll tell him about what he did to the Beacon Country territory too one day. Stiles yawns again and Derek looks at the time.

 

Derek takes Oliver’s hand and kisses it. “Time to say bye, baby. Dad needs to go to sleep and we need to get up and get ready,” he says softly and Oliver huffs, dropping his head on Derek’s stomach.  

 

“Can’t I come to work with you and grandpa?” Oliver turns his head to look at Derek, who just raises a single eyebrow.

 

“Is that something that happened recently?” Stiles asks and his tone is disapproving. Both Derek and Oliver keep quiet. “Derek, you giant marshmallow. You need to find a way to become immune to that puppy,” Stiles laughs.

 

“How are _you_ immune?” Derek whines.

 

“I grew up with Scotty McCall,” Derek can see Stiles smiling and shrugging.

 

Derek groans. “Unfair advantage,” he huffs. “Okay, we need to get going, Ollie, or we’ll be late for school.” He pokes a gentle finger to Oliver’s ribs, getting him to jump and let out a startled laugh. Oliver is just as ticklish as Derek; Stiles is an unparalleled tickler. They have fun on weekends, when Oliver doesn’t have school and and Stiles and Derek (if he’s not working at the station) can hoard their time together with him. Saturday mornings start with tickle fights, it’s tradition at this point.

 

Then Oliver sighs deeply and scrambles off of Derek, elbowing his stomach, causing Derek to groan and cough again. “Bye dad, have good dreams!” Oliver says lightly while Derek recovers.

 

“Thanks baby, have a nice day at school. Have a good day at work, Der,” Stiles wishes with a smile, and both Derek and Oliver wave before they finish the call.

 

Oliver and Derek get up from the bed and Oliver runs off to his bathroom in the hall to brush his teeth, so much more awake than usual. Derek considers asking Stiles to wake him up every morning. Derek stretches and walks over to help Oliver with the toothpaste, and when he’s certain Oliver’s got this, he walks to his own bathroom and keeps an ear out for Oliver while he brushes his own teeth.

 

“Fangs, daddy! Don’t forget!” Oliver shouts and Derek winces, dutifully doing as Oliver asked. Oliver forgets that Derek’s hearing is as good as his sometimes, because he’s used to shouting for Stiles most of the time. Derek walks into Oliver’s bedroom and takes out an outfit with a red shirt, placing it on Oliver’s bed before Oliver runs in and crashes into the back of his legs, almost knocking him down.

 

“You okay getting dressed here or you want to come with me?” Derek asks, looking down behind him where Oliver is. Oliver doesn’t even answer, just grabs his clothes and runs off into the master bedroom. Derek shakes his head and follows.

 

Once they’re both dressed, and Oliver’s pajamas (both today’s and yesterday’s) are in the laundry basket, they go down the stairs and Derek fills up two bowls of cereal for Oliver and himself. He only does that when Stiles is gone because Stiles always gives him shit for eating Oliver’s sugary cereal, even though he eats it himself. “What sandwich are we making for lunch today?” Derek asks once their bowls are clean. Coming home late meant Derek forgot to make the lunches ahead of time.

 

Oliver considers this, head tilted to the side. “What are you getting?” he asks eventually, looking expectantly at Derek.

 

Derek hums, thinking. “Think I’m gonna go for ham and cheese,” he says eventually, nodding seriously.

 

“Then I want that too!” Oliver declares and gets down from his chair and runs to the fridge to get what they need. Derek chuckles, shaking his head, and stands up to place their bowls in the sink. He wrinkles his nose when he notices yesterday’s breakfast dishes but makes peace with the fact that it’ll have to wait until after he comes home from work in the afternoon. Oliver helps Derek make their sandwiches, keeping up a steady rhythm of rambling about anything and everything while Derek tunes in and out and nods and hums at the appropriate places. Derek thinks again about how Oliver is so much more settled, having started his day with both him and Stiles, and pets Oliver’s hair just because. Oliver runs off to bring his Iron Man lunch box and Derek places a sliced red apple, cucumber sticks, and the sandwich inside before he hands it back to Oliver so he can put it in his backpack. Derek packs his own lunch in a brown paper bag and grabs his fresh uniform shirt from the hanger he hung on the kitchen cabinet, buttoning it over his undershirt. It’s a little colder today, so Derek makes Oliver go get a pair of socks and put on his black and blue Nike velcro shoes. They leave for the school right on time, arriving early enough for Oliver to play with his friends before class starts. Mrs. Johnson makes sure to ask Derek if Oliver is doing better and Derek happily assures her that he is, before going to work, feeling lighthearted with how the morning went.

 

When Derek gets to work, John is just leaving again. “Morning, Sheriff,” he greets him with a smile.

 

John nods at him. “Looks like you had an easier morning,” he comments. “Oliver making peace with Stiles being gone?”

 

Derek snorts and shakes his head. “Exact opposite. Stiles called especially to wake him up himself,” he explains.

 

“I love that kid,” John comments lightly, smiling fondly.

 

“Which one?” Derek teases.

 

“Both. All three of you, really,” John shrugs and he actually pets Derek’s hair, which is a strangely pleasant first. John and Stiles are very tactile people, and Derek is used to casual touches from John like shoulder squeezing or even occasional hugging, but that’s the first time he’s extended that specific gesture - usually reserved for Stiles or Oliver, sometimes out of habit even to Scott - to Derek. Derek figures he probably misses Stiles just as much as him and that he’s projecting a little, trying to get to the closest thing, and Derek actually...really enjoyed the gesture. He’s going to get a lot of crap from the other guys in the station, who already tease him about being the sheriff’s favorite, he can already tell, but he doesn’t care even a little bit.

 

“He said he’ll be home soon. I think he’s going to do something stupid and amazing again,” Derek says and sees how the frown lifts from John’s face, telling him he said the right thing.

 

“Is it going to be more stupid or more amazing?” John asks with an exasperated sigh.

 

“I don’t know yet. Probably equal amounts of both,” Derek shrugs. “You know what he’s like. Some things never change.” He shakes his head.

 

“Don’t front with me, kid. You’re all about the equal amounts of stupid and amazing. That’s how you two operate, that’s your default setting.” John pinches his nose, runs his thumb and finger over his eyebrows. “It’s not good for this aging heart,” he says dramatically and Derek laughs.

 

“Don’t ever say that in front of Stiles if you want to see another steak or piece of cake during your lifetime,” Derek laughs. Derek and Melissa toned down Stiles’ obsession with the Sheriff’s diet over the years, but he’s still watching like a hawk.

 

“Oh, I won’t, I’m not stupid,” John assures him, laughing. “Alright, I’ll see you on Friday for dinner, yeah?” he asks, placing a hand on Derek’s shoulder.

 

“Of course,” Derek nods, and watches John walk away until the door closes behind him.

 

“ _Your dad misses you like crazy, when did you last talk to him?”_ he texts Stiles as soon as he’s sitting at his desk, looking over his tasks of the day and rechecking the time of his traffic patrol duty. He doesn’t expect an answer for the next few hours, since Stiles said he was going to sleep, so he’s surprised when his phone vibrates.

 

“ _A couple of days ago. Did he seem extra sad?”_

 

 _“Well, he petted my hair, and he’s never done that before.”_ Derek takes a deep breath as he types that. He doesn’t think anyone’s done that in that fatherly way since his own parents died. It left him kind of reeling.

 

_“Wow. Are you ok?”_

 

Of course Stiles figures it out immediately. Stilinskis and their super detective senses. _“Yeah. It felt really nice.”_

 

_“I’m sure it did. I don’t think it’s just because he misses me, though. :)”_

 

Derek sends him three hearts because he doesn’t know what to say, and then, _“Why are you still awake? You said you were going to sleep,”_ with a frowny face.

 

_“Working.”_

 

_“Stiles.”_

 

_“I’m working, Der. It’s ok.”_

 

_“What are you working on in the middle of the night?”_

 

_“A surprise for the asshole alpha.”_

 

_“Don’t do anything stupid!”_

 

_“He’s no match for me.”_

 

 _“You’re going to get yourself hurt, Stiles. Or killed.”_ Derek sees the little bubble that usually tells him when Stiles is typing and it says that he’s recording a message instead. Stiles knows that hearing his voice shakes Derek a little more than reading texts, so Derek tries to prepare himself for what Stiles is going to say.

 

“Listen to me. I know you remember me at sixteen, stupid and vulnerable and reckless, and that it’s a hard image to shake. But that’s not how I work anymore. Wolves. Are. No. Match. For. Me. Not anymore, and not for a very long time. You know that. I have you, and I have a son, and I have a father and there is no one, ever, who will stop me from coming home. Do you understand?”

 

Derek takes a deep, fortifying breath. His body reacts in a lot of different ways when Stiles is this commanding. _“I’m allowed to be worried,”_ he insists. They’ve discussed this. It’s a recurring argument that arises every time Stiles comes back injured from one of these missions he takes.

 

_“True. But I promise, there’s nothing to worry about.”_

 

_“I’ll believe it when I see it. Go to sleep.”_

 

_“Not yet.”_

 

_“Please.”_

 

_“Derek. Getting hurt is part of the norm and you know that. I heal. A little slower than you, but I do. I’ll be ok. Stop guilting me, it’s not fair. And it distracts me.”_

 

_“I’m sorry. Keep safe and keep me updated.”_

 

_“I will. I love you.”_

 

_“I love you too.”_

 

Derek rubs his temples and sighs. He knows he shouldn’t have gone down that road but he can’t help it sometimes; not when Stiles is so far away. He takes a minute to reel himself in and goes into the paperwork he didn’t finish yesterday, eager to get outside for the patrol as soon as he can. He feels overheated, choking on the smell of ink and stale coffee that’s imbedded in the station’s walls.

 

“You alright, Derek?” Patty, his sometimes-partner asks, looking a little concerned.

 

He looks up and blinks a few times. “Yeah, yes. I’m fine,” he smiles, then looks back down at the forms he needs to fill.

 

By the time he gets to go out on patrol he’s been sitting on the edge of his chair fidgeting like he’s going for an award on imitating Stiles for half an hour. He takes a deep breath and stands for a second next to the police cruiser, cataloging what scents are around him. He gets damp, fallen leaves, and the slightly dying grass surrounding the entrance of the police station. He can hear some insects flying and buzzing close by. It helps him relax enough to get in the car and start driving.

 

When he finishes his patrol he sits down at his desk again to file the various tickets he’d given during the day, and then he’s more than ready to go pick up Oliver from school. When he walks into the hallway where Oliver’s classroom is, Oliver runs over to him excitedly and then stops abruptly, frowning up at him, confused and a little worried.

 

“You’re sad. Why are you sad?”

 

Derek sighs. They need to talk about social cues and how commenting on someone’s chemosignals isn’t always a nice thing to do. “Something bad happened at work,” Derek circumvents around the truth, so Oliver won't catch him in a lie.

 

“Is grandpa okay?” Oliver is still frowning.

 

“Yeah, of course he is. He went home when I started working,” Derek assures him and crouches down to give him a hug. “Everything’s fine, puppy. I promise. Let’s go home. Want to get a chocolate muffin on the way?” He smiles, shaking Oliver a little to get him to smile too, Oliver’s backpack jiggling where it’s hanging over his shoulders.

 

Oliver giggles a little and takes the bait. “Yes! Chocolate muffins!”

 

“One. One muffin,” Derek reiterates.

 

“Damn,” Oliver huffs and Derek buries his face in Oliver’s shoulder, mortified, but still laughing.

 

“Not at school, puppy. You know that.”

 

“Dad said it’s okay if no one can hear,” Oliver straight out _lies_ and Derek straightens up to full height, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“You remember that I know when you’re lying, right?”

 

Oliver flushes and gives Derek the widest, toothiest grin he can possibly muster. “Sorry daddy,” he offers sweetly.

 

Derek ruffles his hair and waves the fingers of his other hand until Oliver puts his small hand in his and they walk outside to the car.

 

When Derek parks the car at their favorite bakery his phone starts playing Stiles’ ringtone. He’s not facetiming, so Derek just picks up and gets out of the car to help Oliver from his booster seat. “Hey, what’s up?” Derek asks carefully.

 

Oliver gives him a suspicious look once he’s standing outside the car, obviously listening carefully for Stiles’ reply.

 

“Ollie’s with you already, right? He can hear?” Stiles sounds tense in a way Derek doesn’t like.

 

“I can hear!” Oliver raises his voice so the phone’s microphone picks it up.

 

“Okay, I need you guys to not freak out. Can you promise not to freak out?”

 

“Stiles,” Derek growls. “You’re hurt, aren’t you,” he huffs. Oliver frowns, worried, eyes searching Derek’s. Derek makes an effort to calm down for Oliver’s sake. It’s not really working.

 

“No, I’m not,” Stiles says confidently. “But I am going to be unavailable to talk to you guys for the next few days. I already told my dad. Please don’t freak out,” he begs.

 

“You promised to keep me updated.” Derek can’t really keep the disappointment out of his tone.

 

“I know, I know. I’m _so_ sorry. But I promise it’s good, okay? I promise,” Stiles sighs, sounding a little desperate.

 

Oliver is tearing up because he can tell how upset Derek is and Derek takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and then again. “C’mere,” he says quietly, scooping Oliver up with one arm.

 

“It’s - It’s progress in the right direction. I just can’t be in touch until Friday,” Stiles sounds honest, but Derek doesn’t like that concept anyway.

 

“Why?” Derek asks after a silence that felt like it lasted a century but probably didn’t. Oliver isn’t sniffling yet, but Derek can feel warm tears on his shirt where Oliver’s face is pressed into his shoulder. He can feel his tiny claws pricking his back and other shoulder where Oliver’s holding onto him.

 

“There’s no reception in that area of Australia,” Stiles explains, and he sounds exhausted and sad. “Everything’s fine, I swear. I just have to go there for a bit.”

 

Derek just breathes for a moment, and turns to kiss the top of Oliver’s head. “Okay,” he says eventually. “We’ll wait to hear from you,” he adds quietly. “You wanna talk to dad?” he asks Oliver gently, and hears how Stiles stops breathing for a moment, like he’s afraid Oliver will say no.

 

Oliver sniffles loudly but nods, straightening up and reaching over to take Derek’s phone. “When are you going to call again?” he demands.

 

Derek listens to Stiles sighing. “On Friday, when you come back from school, okay? I promise we’ll talk right when you come back from school.”

 

Oliver huffs, and curls back into Derek’s shoulder. “And then you’ll come back on Monday,” he makes sure again.

 

“And then I’ll come back on Monday, yes,” Stiles repeats. “I have to go, baby,” he says sadly, but doesn’t say goodbye yet.

 

“But I don’t want you to go,” Oliver whines. “This isn’t fair!”

 

Stiles is quiet for a moment, and Derek knows he’s doing the wiping his eyebrows with the back of his hand thing that both he and John do. He can feel it. “I know,” he says eventually. “Okay, Ollie, if I promise you a surprise from me waiting for you at home on Friday -” Stiles sounds desperate again “- will that make it better?”

 

Oliver thinks about it for a quiet minute, looking at Derek for guidance. “What kind of surprise?” he asks eventually. Oliver knows how to do business.

 

“A really big one,” Stiles says and it sounds like for the first time during this entire phone call, he’s smiling a little.

 

“Okay,” Oliver agrees. “I miss you,” he adds. “And I don’t like that you can’t call anymore.”

 

“Me neither, baby. And I miss you too. Der, give him a kiss for me?” Derek kisses Oliver’s cheek and Oliver kisses his back. Stiles probably heard it, because he waits until they’re done before speaking again., “I really have to go, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I love you both, and I’ll talk to you as soon as I can.”

 

Derek and Oliver both say goodbye and they hang up, and Derek goes into the bakery with Oliver in his arms but they’re both not entirely in the mood anymore.

 

When they get home they go through the usual motions: Derek locks up his gun, they both take off their shoes, and then they go sit in the living room to watch some TV, because neither really have it in them to do anything more productive than mope on the couch. Oliver eats two chocolate muffins (Derek ended up buying six of them, because Oliver was making a sad face and Derek’s emotions were making a sad face too), Derek eats one blueberry muffin and doesn’t care that there’s crumbs all over the couch and the carpet. He thinks about how bad it’s going to be when he has to put Oliver to sleep and Stiles won’t be there to help, and how he’ll have to wake him up in the morning and handle that separate mess too. The thought makes him tired already. He grabs Oliver and places him in his lap, and Oliver just makes himself comfortable without protest. They watch TV until dinner time, which Derek never allows, but even when he suggests that they go play a game or put a puzzle together or anything less brain-melting than the cartoons, Oliver refuses and Derek doesn't blame him.

 

“What are we having for dinner?” he asks when the clock shows it’s 6pm, which is late in terms of their usual schedule.

 

“Pizza,” Oliver announces, his tone a challenge.

 

Derek isn’t going to argue. “Pizza it is,” he nods and brings up the pizza delivery app on his phone to order in from their favorite place where Derek has confirmed they use actual tomatoes in the sauce and actual cheese. While they’re waiting, Oliver suddenly decides to get out of the cage of Derek’s arms, and instead climbs on the back of the couch, plastering himself to Derek’s upper back and resting his head on top of Derek’s, arms wrapping around his neck, hands tapping gently on his chest.

 

“Don’t be sad, daddy,” he says quietly. “I don’t like when you’re sad.”

 

Derek places both arms on Oliver’s small waist and lifts, turning him upside down and holding him in front of him where they can look each other in the eye. Derek kisses his nose. “How can I be sad when I have the coolest, cutest, best kid ever?” he asks, feeling like he’s channeling Stiles a little, and smiling when Oliver laughs. He lowers him gently, turning him right side up again, back into his lap. “What do you say we go play outside until the pizza gets here?” he offers, hugging Oliver close.

 

“Softball?” Oliver asks excitedly.

 

“Softball,” Derek confirms and stands up, placing Oliver gently on the floor so he can go take the equipment out of the hallway closet where they keep winter coats and hats and gloves, across from the one where Derek keeps his gun.

 

Oliver runs off outside, barefoot and shirtless because Derek felt like he needed the skin contact when they were sitting together. Derek is shirtless and barefoot himself, only wearing a pair of Stiles’ sweatpants. They’re a little snug, because Stiles’s butt is smaller (Stiles is very happy to point out how much he likes Derek’s bubble butt whenever he can), but Derek doesn’t care.

 

Derek throws and Oliver bats for a while, and Derek watches as his aim gets better as Oliver warms up further, how strong his hit is. They really do need to sign him up to play with a real team. Oliver switches to catching, then they switch altogether and Derek catches. They both hear the delivery guy’s motorbike and Oliver runs off back inside the house and opens the door. Derek walks over and grabs the pizza, and tips the delivery guy from the jar they keep on top of the shoe cabinet in the entrance hallway.

 

They sit in the living room because Derek doesn’t feel like setting a table, and Oliver demolishes three pieces without stopping. Derek eats the rest. When they’re both full, somehow at the same time, they look at each other and Oliver starts laughing and climbs into Derek’s lap, resting his small hands on Derek’s thick beard.

 

“Will I have a beard like yours when I’m old?” Oliver asks, scratching at Derek’s cheeks, slapping them very gently, playfully.

 

“Dad thinks so. He _hopes_ so,” Derek says, laughing.

 

“Why?” Oliver wonders, moving his fingers to play curiously with Derek’s hair.

 

“Because dad can’t grow a beard,” Derek laughs again, winking at Oliver.

 

“But he does! I saw! He has a beard!” Oliver protests, and trails his fingers down Derek’s eyebrows to his ears. Derek closes his eyes and enjoys all the contact.

 

“Yeah, but it’s not as nice as mine,” Derek explains seriously, looking into Oliver’s eyes, tracing his fingers down from Oliver’s forehead to his chin.

 

Oliver hums and considers it. “It isn’t,” he agrees eventually, pulling curiously on Derek’s ears until Derek carefully stops him.

 

“Bath time,” Derek says in a singsong voice and picks Oliver up, placing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he stands and walks up the stairs.

 

“Do I gotta?” Oliver drags the sentence with a whine, his voice jumping along with Derek’s steps.

 

“Have to,” Derek corrects out of habit, “and yes, you do,” he adds, placing Oliver on the floor in the bathroom and crouching in front of him.

 

“But I don’t wanna,” Oliver whines again, and Derek can tell he’s building up to a tantrum. For now, he ignores it.

 

“Well, boys who smell like the sand box at school can’t sleep in my bed,” Derek shrugs, and waits.

 

Oliver frowns angrily and then takes off his shorts, throwing them in the laundry basket. “Fine,” he huffs.

 

Derek grins at him and once he’s completely naked he picks him up by his armpits and places him in the tub that’s starting to fill up with hot water. Derek sits next to the tub and starts pouring in copious amounts of the bubble soap, until everything is white foam and you can hardly see any water under it. That’s how Oliver likes it best. While Oliver plays cheerfully in all the foam and bubbles Derek usually doesn’t let him have, Derek considers if he has it in him to handle the tantrum that’s been brewing under the easily distracted surface of Oliver’s consciousness, and the one that will follow tomorrow morning. He gets a splash of water in his face for being distracted, and chuckles lightly at Oliver before he sees the stormy expression on his face. “What is it, baby?” he asks.

 

“I want out,” Oliver replies, and his eyebrows turn down in the same way Derek’s do when he’s angry or upset.

 

“Already?” Derek is reluctant to have the tantrum start right now, but it looks like he doesn’t have a choice.

 

“I want to talk to dad,” Oliver looks Derek straight in the eye, mutinous. Derek knows that Oliver is aware that’s not a possibility.

 

Derek considers his options. He can acknowledge this and talk it out with Oliver and it will probably end with Oliver crying until he runs out of energy, he can commiserate and hope sharing the feeling might stave off the tantrum, or he can be angry about Oliver playing dumb, which could go one of two ways: either Oliver stops whatever it is he’s trying to build, or Oliver lashes out worse.

 

Derek doesn’t really know how to do the angry parent thing as well as Stiles does. Derek thinks it’s born from experience; Stiles had a good role model, and he was a little shit as a kid, so he learned how to do anger in a way that doesn’t damage your kid from someone who is probably the very best. Derek, however…he doesn’t really remember his mother being angry with him. He was a pretty tame kid, and didn’t really stray too far away from the line. He can sometimes vaguely remember Laura getting reprimanded, but the lack of remembering could also be the fact that he prefers to focus on the good things, like anyone would.

 

“You’re asking for something you know is impossible,” Derek says carefully after a few minutes of them quietly assessing one another.

 

Oliver shrugs and stands up in the tub. Derek can tell he isn’t in the clear yet from the sheer amount of emotions he reads off of Oliver. Anger, confusion, frustration, sadness. He can’t blame him too much. “Out, I want out,” he asks again, pouting. Derek stands and rinses him quickly, emptying the tub and then grabbing a towel, carefully picking Oliver up and wrapping him in it. Derek carries him into his bedroom and sets him on the bed. He kisses Oliver’s forehead and sits next to him, both of them quiet.

 

Derek suddenly feels a strong wave of warmth flooding through him, pulsing from his tattoo outwards, spreading through his arms and stomach and legs. Stiles is reaching out to him for his power, for his support. He needs help and Derek can’t rush over; all he can do is breathe deeply and imagine holding Stiles’ hand like Stiles once instructed him to do when Derek was too far to actually help. “Ollie, I need you to do something for me. Do you think you can concentrate right now, baby? I need you to imagine holding dad’s hand,” Derek says without explanation and Oliver is momentarily distracted from his sulk, tilting his head at Derek, curious.

 

“Why?” Oliver asks, and Derek can’t blame him. He doesn’t know how to explain that Stiles needs help without scaring him, and Derek looks up at the ceiling for inspiration.

 

“So dad will have a good day,” Derek says eventually, quiet. “He needs our help so he can have a really good day,” he says again and watches Oliver close his eyes dutifully, no need for further questions, taking deep breaths that match Derek’s. They sit there like that, in something like a trance, for a time that feels like eternity, but is actually maybe ten minutes, right until that pulsing warmth stops flooding Derek’s entire body. Oliver crawls over to him once it’s done, curling in his lap. It exhausted both of them.

 

Derek stands up on shaky legs with Oliver in his arms and grabs a pair of bright blue underwear for him on his way to the master bedroom. He helps Oliver slide them on while he stands on the made bed, then grabs a clean pair of boxers for himself and takes Oliver with him into the master bathroom. He sets Oliver on the closed toilet, watching his suddenly droopy eyes, all of the fight now gone from them, replaced by fatigue. Derek strips, Oliver not batting a lash - he’s used to seeing Derek naked when he transforms into or from a full shift - and quickly steps into the shower. Oliver whines, “I know, I know, Ollie,” Derek says and rushes into the stall, only taking a short cursory shower and walking straight back out, drying himself carelessly with his own towel before putting on the boxers he picked (Stiles’, he notices a little while later), and picking Oliver up again to place him under the covers. He turns off all the lights around them, doesn’t bother going downstairs or anywhere else in the house to turn off anything he forgot, and gets in the bed with Oliver who immediately glues himself to Derek’s chest.

 

“That was a little rough, huh, buddy?” Derek asks quietly, looking down at Oliver.

 

“What happened?” is all Oliver says, so Derek wraps his arms around him, rubbing his chin over the top of Oliver’s head.

 

“I don’t know,” he says quietly, “but dad needed some help. Some werewolf mojo, like he says.” Derek smiles carefully when Oliver cranes his neck to look at him.

 

“But you said he’s stronger than you!” Oliver yells, fists hitting Derek’s chest. There’s that tantrum Derek was waiting for. He holds Oliver’s small fists in his hands, breathes deeply and slowly, in and out, until Oliver stops fighting him.

 

“He _is_ stronger than me. But everyone is stronger with their pack,” Derek explains quietly once Oliver settles again. “Even humans.”

 

“Then why didn’t he take us with him? Why does he _always_ go?” Oliver whines and sniffs dramatically, and Derek, again, relates.

 

“Because you need to go to school, and I need to go help grandpa at work,” Derek lists patiently. “And sometimes the things he has to do are dangerous, so he doesn’t want us to get hurt,” he adds. “But you know what?” Derek whispers into Oliver’s hair. “He promised me he won’t go again,” he sighs. “Not ever.”

 

Oliver knocks his head into Derek’s chin in his hurry to look at him, matching colored eyes looking into each other. They both take a few seconds to shake off the sharp pain, and then Oliver laughs, and Derek sags with relief. “Did he really promise?” Oliver’s eyes go gold for a moment, probably with excitement, and Derek flashes his red in return.

 

Derek nods. “He really did,” he says, once Oliver has pressed his ear back against his chest to listen to his heart.

 

Oliver raises his head again once he’s satisfied, and he’s grinning, but then it fades a little. “But how will he help if he stops going? Dad said that’s what he does when he goes,” he asks and he’s genuinely worried. Derek sighs; either this hero complex is hereditary on the Stilinski side, or his side, or it’s just the only way he and Stiles know how to raise a kid after everything they’ve been through. He likes to think it’s a little bit of all of them.

 

“He said that if someone needs his help, they can come to us. Sometimes he might still have to go, I think,” Derek warns. “Because sometimes he’ll have to be there. But he won’t go for stupid Alphas anymore.” He smiles.

 

“Like this one?” Oliver asks.

 

“Exactly like this one,” Derek winks at him and Oliver laughs. Derek clicks on the reading lamp on his nightstand, and looks around the walls of their room. They’re covered in pictures and drawings, starting from the very moment Oliver managed to draw a lopsided closed circle when he was a little under two years old, until yesterday’s drawing of the preserve. There are pictures from trips they took together, before Derek started working as a deputy and when Stiles was just starting out as a household name in the supernatural world, and after, and with Oliver. There’s a picture of their proposal (Stiles went down on one knee, Derek cried, and Scott got the whole thing on camera and on video), four pictures from their wedding day (just them, them with John and Melissa, a group shot of everyone, and a picture of them standing at the altar and beaming at each other), and the rest are all Ollie. Ollie at the hospital when he was born, Ollie with Derek or Stiles or both in varying ages and poses, and Derek lingers on one from six months ago where Oliver is wolfed out and sleeping on Stiles’ chest where he’s sprawled on the living room couch. Stiles is mid-snore, one foot on the floor and one leg spread over the back of the couch, both arms around Oliver, and there are visible tears in his t-shirt where Oliver’s claws must have sunk in. It’s definitely in the top five of Derek’s all-time favorite pictures and he stares at it. Oliver squirms in his arms and squints his eyes against the light.

 

“Turn it off, daddy,” he whines and Derek turns to lie on his back and places Oliver on his chest, making sure to bring the covers over Oliver’s head until he protests about it.

 

“I’m not ready to go to sleep yet,” Derek shrugs and Oliver huffs from under the covers, his warm breath feeling like a caress to Derek’s skin.

 

“But _I_ want to go to sleep,” Oliver whines.

 

“Yeah, well, we haven’t read a bedtime story and I can’t sleep without one, so I’m not ready yet,” Derek shrugs again, counts down the seconds silently until Oliver shoots up, leaning his arms on Derek’s chest. He sits up on Derek’s stomach and taps a gentle rhythm with his hands, alternating between that and playing with the hair on Derek’s chest. “What are you thinking?” Derek asks, running a hand down Oliver’s hair, neck, and back. Oliver arches into it a little.

 

Oliver hums for a moment and then sinks back down to lie on Derek’s chest. “I dunno what to pick. You pick,” he says eventually and Derek pulls him up his body a little so he can kiss his cheek.

 

“That sleepy, huh?” Derek asks with a soft smile and Oliver nods, eyes fluttering shut. “Guess we could skip the bedtime story,” he says and Oliver hums an agreement. “Just as long as tomorrow you’re the one reading it,” Derek says innocently. Oliver’s eyes fly open again, then go narrow.

 

“I dunno how t’read,” Oliver slurs, miffed.

 

“You can read just fine when dad’s around.”

 

“But --”

 

“Uh-uh, we need to practice. If dad comes home and finds out we haven’t practiced while he was gone he’ll be really disappointed.” Derek pulls out the ultimate weapon, Stiles’ disappointment, which works without fail. Derek knows the opposite is true as well, Stiles using Derek’s disappointment to his advantage whenever necessary, so he doesn’t particularly mind. “I’ll tell you what we can do. I’m not working tomorrow morning, so you can stay home and we’ll practice reading all day. And then maybe we’ll go run around the preserve for a bit -” Derek doesn’t even need to finish the list of things they can do before Oliver wraps his arms around him as best he can while Derek is lying down and chants, “Yes yes yes!”

 

“Are you excited about spending time with me or about not going to school?” Derek teases and Oliver freezes, thinking.

 

“...both?” Oliver ventures and Derek just laughs.

 

“Fair enough. I think I’m finally ready to go to sleep, what about you?” Derek asks cheerfully. Oliver slides off his chest and curls against his side, reaching out a hand to place on Derek’s chest and resting his head on Derek’s bicep. Derek maneuvers him so they can both sleep comfortably and turns off the light.

 

~~~~~

 

Derek wakes when he hears the gears of the alarm start moving, and turns it off immediately - before it has a chance to wake Oliver up. Once he makes sure Oliver is still sleeping deeply, he settles back into his pillow and falls asleep again. He wakes up about an hour or so later when Oliver’s stomach growls.

 

“You up, buddy?” Derek whispers, watching Oliver stretch his limbs.

 

“I’m hungry,” Oliver replies and Derek chuckles before slowly getting up, letting Oliver lie in a little longer while he goes to brush his teeth and put on a pair of well-worn, comfy jeans. By the time he’s done, Oliver is bouncing slightly on the bed, waving his arms in Derek’s direction, and Derek lets him climb onto his back, taking him to his bathroom where he helps him with the toothpaste and leans against the wall, watching Oliver brush his teeth.

 

“Keep brushing,” Derek says with a smile when Oliver starts humming the Superman theme instead of brushing. Once that’s done, he gets Oliver to put on a pair of long pants and a t-shirt.

 

They go downstairs together, where Derek definitely left all the lights on the night before. “What do you want to eat?” he asks Oliver while standing at the sink, washing all the dishes he let pile up. Oliver leans against Derek’s leg and yawns.

 

“Waffles. With lots and lots of maple syrup,” Oliver answers eventually, looking up at Derek, who nods. “And a chocolate muffin!”

 

“Don’t push it,” Derek stifles a smile when he looks down at Oliver. “Get what we need for the waffles,” he urges with a hand on Oliver’s back. He keeps an ear out, listening to make sure Oliver hasn’t dropped anything, and watches as his son brings everything to the counter, including the waffle iron, except for eggs. Derek dries his hands with a towel and kicks Oliver’s stool closer to the counter where he’s working so he can watch. They’re quiet for a little bit until Derek asks, “What do you want to do first?”

 

“Go to the preserve! Please please please can we go run in the preserve? Can you please go wolf?” Oliver jumps up and down on his stool and Derek places a steadying hand on his shoulder.

 

“We can definitely do that,” Derek nods. “But after that we’re doing some reading,” and his tone doesn’t brook any arguments. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’m not working this morning, but I _am_ working tonight, so you’re going to have a sleepover at Scott and Kira’s house!”

 

Usually Derek doesn’t take night shifts when Stiles is gone, but he didn’t have a choice this time, seeing as Stiles has been gone for so long. Oliver’s eyes go wide with excitement. “ _Really?”_ he asks, and he looks a little like Christmas came early.

 

“Mm-hmm,” Derek nods. “Scott will pick you up in the afternoon.”

 

“YES!” Oliver pumps his fists in the air excitedly. Derek ladles the first waffle into the iron and closes it, watching the steam rising out of it and reveling in the smell. Oliver sniffs visibly and Derek pulls him back from where he’s leaning a little too close to the hot appliance. Werewolves heal fast, but burns still hurt.

 

When all the waffles are ready, Derek takes the maple syrup out of the cabinet and they sit down together, Oliver waiting patiently for Derek to cut his up into small pieces. They eat slowly and quietly, and Derek can’t help but touch Oliver every few minutes: gently petting his hair, wiping a stray drop of syrup from his chin or the corner of his mouth, resting his hand on the back of Oliver’s neck for a few long seconds. He looks fondly at Oliver’s upturned nose and thinks about how important it was to Stiles and John that Oliver somehow inherited it; Claudia’s nose was like that. Derek knows Oliver’s eye color and thick, dark hair are from his own mother. It’s like he specifically chose the genes to make him that perfect. Derek would probably think he was perfect even if he looked completely different, but this was such a great bonus.

 

This time once they’re done eating Derek washes the dishes straight away. Oliver pouts a little but waits patiently for him to be done. Once he’s finished, Derek takes the stairs two at a time and pulls on a sweater and some socks, grabbing a pair of socks and a sweatshirt for Oliver too before bundling him up. It’s even colder today, but once he shifts into his wolf he won’t feel it. Oliver needs to be wrapped up, though. When they’re both dressed, they walk out the back door to the yard, and open the gate that leads to the preserve. Their house isn’t Derek’s old house. Stiles suggested they rebuild it, but Derek didn’t want to live in his past. He wanted their future to be their own, so they had the burned remains demolished and removed, then planted a tree with a sign next to it to commemorate Derek’s family before building their new house a few miles away. Derek thinks Stiles did something to the tree, because it went from sapling to a huge, towering oak in a year. He suspects it has to do with the territory split Stiles did between Derek and Scott once Oliver was born and Derek gained his Alpha powers again. He thinks it might even be Stiles’ own personal nemeton. One that’s thriving and thrumming with positive energies, placed in the very center of one of the crossings of the telluric currents. Derek checked.

 

Derek leaves his clothes in a folded pile in a crate that Stiles repurposed for this exact reason, and shifts. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of Oliver’s awed gasp every time he sees it. He walks over to Oliver, who’s about the same height as him now, and bumps his nose against his cheek, as if saying “Come on, now you!” to urge Oliver to go into his Beta form. Oliver giggles and wipes at the wetness Derek’s nose left on his cheek and buries his hands in Derek’s thick fur, then his face in Derek’s neck. Derek feels the change ripple through Oliver against his neck and takes a deep breath, reveling for a moment in the specific scent of Oliver’s wolf, then walks behind him and play-bites his butt, urging him to start running.

 

It must have rained a little during the night, because everything smells fresh and new and the earth is a little damp, sticking to Derek’s paws and Oliver’s shoes while they run. Oliver shrieks and darts between the trees, Derek chasing him farther and farther into the thicker part of the woods. When Oliver stops abruptly, Derek skids a little in the mud, and just manages not to run into him. He watches Oliver lift his face and close his eyes, concentrating on the scents around him. Derek can hear him mumble under his breath, cataloguing the scents he recognizes. Eventually he runs off in a specific direction and Derek follows, alternating between trotting alongside him and playfully pushing him from the back. Finally, Oliver finds the rabbit he was chasing. The animal is obviously terrified of the two predators walking towards it and tries to flee, but Oliver runs and catches it before it can. Oliver shifts back into his human face and the rabbit stops wriggling in his arms in an attempt to escape.

 

“Daddy, look! I caught a bunny!” He runs over to Derek to show him and Derek licks his cheek in place of a kiss, emanating pride. “Ugh, daddy. Drool.” Oliver wipes it off but he’s grinning at Derek, preening. He plops down to the ground with the rabbit in his lap and pets it, and Derek lies down on the ground beside him, closing his eyes. “Can we keep it?” Oliver asks and Derek huffs, shaking his head no. “But why?” Oliver drags the question with a whine. Derek leans a little closer to the rabbit to show Oliver why. The rabbit immediately starts squirming and eventually escapes Oliver’s grip and runs off, terrified. Oliver’s shoulders slump and then he straightens with a bright smile. “Can we get a _dog_?”

 

Derek shakes his head no again, pushing his nose into Oliver’s side. In order to end this line of conversation he then pushes his nose under Oliver’s butt, forcing him to stand. Derek stands as well, then trots off at a sedate pace that Oliver can catch up with.

 

They walk and run and chase different scents around the preserve for two hours before Derek eventually corrals Oliver, herding him back towards the house, which takes them another half hour to reach. Derek shifts back once they’re in the yard and gets dressed. He peels off all of Oliver’s extra layers once they’re inside and walks to the kitchen, pulling out the chocolate muffins they bought yesterday, waving them at Oliver who starts jumping up to reach them. Derek holds them up above his head and walks to the living room, sitting down on the soft couch and handing a muffin to Oliver once he plops down next to him, leaning against his side. Derek eats one himself and wipes the crumbs from Oliver’s face with his thumb.

 

“Do you know what time it is?” he asks, grinning down at Oliver.

 

“TV time?” Oliver asks excitedly.

 

Derek just laughs. “No, it’s reading time. Go grab water from the fridge and come up to your room. I’ll pick some books for us,” he says, then stands up to leave. Oliver crosses his arms and frowns angrily, but Derek isn’t impressed. “Move your butt, come on.” He peels Oliver off the couch and guides him to the kitchen. Oliver walks reluctantly to the fridge and Derek waits until he takes out two water bottles before he heads upstairs to Oliver’s bedroom. He picks out a few books that Oliver likes, and sits on the bed, listening to Oliver stomp his way upstairs and into the room.  “Reading is not that bad,” Derek huffs, pulling Oliver into his lap. He takes one of the bottles of water that Oliver sets next to him on the bed, breaks the seal and unscrews the top before handing it to Oliver. “Drink up, we were running around for a very long time,” he instructs and then opens the second bottle for himself, downing the entire thing in one go. He was more thirsty than he realized. Oliver does as he’s asked and chugs down as much as he can manage, trying to imitate Derek. Derek takes the bottle and screws the top back on, smiling brightly at Oliver.

 

Oliver groans dramatically and falls back against Derek’s chest. He takes a deep breath, then leans over Derek’s leg to look through the books Derek chose. He picks one from the pile and opens it. Oliver stumbles his way through the first book, and is a little more confident by the time they reach the second one. He’s absolutely enthusiastic by the time they start the third one, and Derek doesn’t even need to guide him with his finger anymore, can just sit back and listen, only correcting every once in awhile. It’s amazing. Usually Derek’s on the periphery of these things; Stiles gets to teach Oliver regular things, and Derek teaches him werewolf things. The divide came naturally, unintentionally, and they kept it up because it worked as a system. They were both involved in all aspects of Oliver’s life, but they also each had their own things that they got to work on with Oliver one-on-one. It’s fair in the end, but Derek loves watching up close how Oliver improves, no matter what the subject is.

 

Once they finish a fifth book (and no one is more surprised than Derek that they’ve gone so long at it), Oliver turns in Derek’s lap and places his hands on Derek’s cheeks. Derek thinks he likes the rasping of his beard against his fingers and Derek really loves the feeling, so he doesn’t say anything to stop him. “I want to do something else,” Oliver declares.

 

Derek nods seriously. “What might that be?”

 

Oliver’s hands leave Derek’s face as he thinks. “Drawing. I wanna draw,” he decides, then scrambles off the bed butt first and almost falls. Derek grabs him and makes sure his feet hit the ground before he lets go. Oliver runs to his kiddie-sized table where his crayons are and pulls out a few sheets of paper from a built-in drawer. Derek walks over and sits on the floor leisurely, quietly watching for a few minutes. “This is the bunny I caught today,” Oliver narrates as he draws carefully. Derek hums quietly, doesn’t want to interrupt. “And this is you.” He points with the black crayon he’s using to fill up the vaguely dog shaped form on the paper, making a comeback from yesterday. “And this is me,” he adds finally, and Derek watches as he meticulously draws the funny little sideburns he sprouts when he shifts, the yellow eyes and even fangs and claws. He draws a few trees around them, and grass. Derek fights the urge to frame it.

 

“You okay here, puppy? Can I go downstairs and start making lunch?” Derek asks, pushing Oliver’s hair back from his forehead, leaning over to kiss his temple. “You can take your things and come down with me if you want,” Derek says when Oliver starts showing signs of distress.

 

Oliver takes a moment to consider and then settles in his chair. “Maybe later,” he says, and keeps drawing something Derek can’t figure out yet. Derek stands up and glances back at Oliver twice before he leaves the room and goes downstairs to the kitchen.

 

He hears Oliver thunder down the stairs and run in when he’s taking the crispy chicken nuggets he made from scratch out of the oven. “YOU MADE CHICKEN NUGGETS!” Oliver yells, excited, and Derek shrinks in on himself before he manages to get his hearing in check.

 

“I did,” Derek confirms once he can shake off the ringing in his ears. He takes the pot of rice off the flame and spoons some onto plates he took out earlier. The table is already set, there’s ketchup next to Oliver’s place at the table, water and glasses, the only thing missing is the plates of food. Derek puts four pieces of chicken on Oliver’s plate and six on his own and sets them down on the table. He raises an expectant eyebrow at Oliver who rushes over to climb on top of his chair. Oliver picks up the bottle of ketchup and Derek stops him. “What do we say?” he asks.

 

“Uh…thank you?” Oliver tries.

 

Derek shakes his head. “You say that after we’re done,” he corrects.

 

“Oh! Bon appetite?” Oliver guesses, using the English pronunciation.

 

“Bon appetit, but yes, that’s the one,” Derek smiles at him and takes the ketchup bottle before Oliver pours out half of it onto his plate. Oliver wrinkles his nose but accepts his fate, already knowing that arguing over the ketchup with Derek is useless. Derek promises TV time once they’re done with lunch and Oliver almost upends the plate with his enthusiastic response.

 

Oliver runs off to the living room to turn the TV on while Derek washes dishes and places the leftovers in tupperware boxes. He takes a book from one of the shelves covering their walls and sits on the couch, leaning against the arm of the sofa, stretching his legs out until Oliver has to sit either on top or between them.

 

“I’m going to go pack your overnight bag, alright, Ollie?” Derek says after a while. He hopes it’ll go over okay. Oliver doesn’t usually mind sleeping over at Scott and Kira’s, especially since Jesse is there, but he’s been understandably a little off with the whole radio silence from Stiles. Oliver nods, distracted, and Derek places a bookmark from the collection they keep in a drawer of one of the side tables to mark his place before he goes upstairs to pack up Oliver’s bag.

 

He’s just walking downstairs when he hears Scott’s car park outside, and he goes to open the door and greet him.

 

“Thanks for taking him,” Derek says when Scott is walking up the stairs.

 

“Sure thing, man. We love having him.” Scott shrugs cheerfully and walks inside, laughing when Oliver crows happily as soon as he notices Scott is there. “You ready to go, little dude? You should probably put on some shoes.” Scott points to Oliver’s socked feet and Oliver nods and runs off to do that. Derek hands the overnight bag to Scott and takes the school backpack from its hanger, handing that one to Oliver. When they open the door again, ready to leave, Oliver suddenly looks hesitant.

 

Derek crouches down and cups Oliver’s face in his hands. “You’re going to have a lot of fun with Scott and Kira and Jesse, and you’ll have ice cream for dessert even though it’s cold out - Scott promised me - and Kira will make you the coolest lunch for tomorrow, and then when school’s over I’ll come pick you up and we’ll come home. You won’t even notice I was gone,” he promises quietly, gaze roaming over Oliver’s face, finally settling on his eyes. “Give me a hug?” he asks and Oliver throws himself into Derek’s arms. Derek kisses the top of his head. “Have fun, puppy, okay? I put some of your action figures in the bag so you can play with Jesse. You’ll be fine. And if you need me, I’m just a phone call away.” Derek glances up at Scott who nods and smiles reassuringly.

 

“Come on, dude, Jesse’s waiting and he’s super excited that you’re coming over,” Scott says and Oliver lets go of Derek and looks at him. He walks over slowly, takes Scott’s outstretched hand before looking back at Derek.

 

“Bye daddy,” he says with a small smile, and Derek sees Scott squeeze his hand.

 

“Bye baby, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Derek promises again, and then they’re gone and Derek’s alone and it’s not great. He turns towards the living room and picks up his book again, but after fifteen minutes of reading the same five lines he can’t seem to be able to retain, he gives up. His entire body itches with the need for something to do, but nothing seems appealing enough. This would usually be the time he grabs Stiles and takes him upstairs to have some fun. He considers doing that by himself but that just depresses him further. He thinks about going for a run, but knows that will tire him too much ahead of his night shift. Eventually he settles on going to bed, hoping he’ll fall asleep. He counts the pictures and drawings on their bedroom wall instead of sheep and it helps but it’s not enough.

 

He tosses and turns for a long time until finally, that warmth starts spreading from his tattoo outwards again. It’s not a distress signal, this time. It’s a reassurance, a soft caress, a loose hug. Derek can almost feel all of them physically and wonders how is it that Stiles always _knows_ , knows what Derek’s thinking and feeling and what kind of push he needs to get moving in the right direction. He breathes deeply, imagines Stiles is maybe just in the next room, working. Stiles’ warmth surrounds him until the moment he falls asleep.

 

Derek wakes up late to a text from Scott with a picture attached. In it are Oliver and Jesse, limbs tangled on Jesse’s bed where they’re both sleeping, and apparently snoring loudly. Derek chuckles and stretches on the bed, turns over to lie on his stomach, buries his nose in the pillow that still smells faintly of Oliver. After the long nap, he’s now a little reluctant to leave the bed, but he needs to eat something before he goes to work, so he walks down the stairs slowly, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He makes eggs and bacon and a salad because what the hell, he’s going to work now so he might as well eat breakfast.

 

When he gets to work Patty’s just leaving, so he gives her a warm smile on his way to his desk. He quickly catches up on all the updates and rushes back out to his favorite cruiser for his night patrol. He passes by Scott and Kira’s place, idles on the street for a moment to listen to Oliver’s peaceful breathing. The door opens suddenly, which Derek should have noticed, but he tends to lose track when he’s checking on Oliver. Scott stands on the porch and he’s laughing, waving at Derek.

 

“Everything’s fine,” Scott says, doesn’t bother raising his voice.

 

“I trust you,” Derek laughs. “But old habits die hard.” He shrugs, doesn’t know if Scott can tell. “Thanks again.” He waves back and drives off once Scott tells him not to mention it.

 

Next he drives by John and Melissa’s house. He doesn’t even linger, but it settles something in him just to see both cars in the drive and all the lights but the one in the bedroom turned off. Derek loves night patrol because Beacon Hills is a sleepy town nowadays and he can just enjoy whatever stars he can see when he stops at the only 24-hour diner in the town and sits outside to eat a burger and fries because he can. He likes being able to hear everything that normally gets drowned out by the daytime noises. The animals in the preserve, the cicadas, even frogs in the right season. During the day all he can hear, unless he strains, are car engines and electricity buzzing and people going about their lives.

 

He loves his job; he didn’t think he would, but Stiles and John insisted he try it once Oliver was old enough to go to preschool and Derek didn’t have anymore excuses to stay at home. Stiles works from home a lot, but his home office isn’t actually inside the house. He has a different, small cabin right behind the house where he works and Derek can feel the hum of the magic he uses. He uses their home study when he’s researching, even though most of his special books are in the cabin’s library. The vast library inside their house holds mostly fiction and the harmless kind of supernatural books. The ones in the cabin are old and rife with energy that Stiles didn’t want in the house.

 

Derek’s eyes are drooping once the shift is coming to a close. John greets him cheerfully when he comes in, but there’s something off that Derek can’t quite figure out. Like he knows something he really wants to tell Derek but can’t.

 

“What? What is it, why are you looking at me like that?” he asks with narrowed eyes but John’s chest just expands and he exudes happiness and doesn’t explain.

 

“Nothing, son. It’s just a good morning. You should head home and get some sleep,” John grins in a way that makes Derek want to know why he’s smiling like this.

 

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Derek accuses and crosses his arms over his chest in an attempt to look threatening.

 

“Definitely,” John confirms cheerfully and heads towards his office with a wave to Derek. Derek deflates and walks out of the station, still feeling off about being kept in the dark. He has a strong suspicion it has to do with Stiles, because what else would it be? But he doesn’t know how that’s possible if Stiles is on radio silence until tomorrow afternoon.

 

He doesn’t really remember his drive home, which is probably a sign that he shouldn’t be driving after working the night shift, and he feels exhausted when he walks inside, kicking his shoes off in the direction of the cabinet and locking his gun up absently. He doesn’t turn on any lights and carries himself up the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt on the way, so that by the time he’s in the bedroom he can just throw it in the direction of the laundry basket, shuck off his pants and faceplant into the bed. He feels like there’s a special cocktail of circumstances that are making him this tired, but he doesn’t delve deeper into the thought, just burrows under the covers, sets an alarm for three hours of sleep, and drifts off.

 

When he wakes up he takes a long shower, and then takes care of the house. He picks up messes he and Oliver left over the week, washes dishes that were left from yesterday, cleans the house even though they pay someone to do it for them and he was around a few days ago. Something propels him into doing all these domestic things, laundry, cleaning - he makes a grocery list and plans to go shopping on his way back from picking Oliver up from school. He doesn’t know where this motivation, this sudden need to nest is coming from, but he doesn’t mind.

 

Oliver almost topples him over by running into his legs when Derek comes to pick him up. He throws the overnight bag on the hallway floor, knowing Derek will pick it up once he’s done hugging him.

 

“Did you have fun with Jesse?” Derek asks, crouching down to look at Oliver and pet his hair.

 

“ _So_ much fun. And Kira and Scott made awesome food for dinner. And we played video games. And me and Jesse read the bedtime story together! Kira didn’t even help us! And we took a bath together and I asked Jesse if he would marry me and he said _yes_! And it was awesome because we played with the action figures and --”

 

“Whoa, breathe, baby,” Derek stops him and laughs quietly, kissing his forehead. ”What’s that about marrying Jesse?” he asks, feeling like the details for this are important to pass on to Stiles.

 

“We’re best friends and we’re getting married! Scott said it’s awesome!” Oliver explains happily.

 

“Did Scott explain that you have to wait until you’re older?” Derek asks carefully, fighting not to laugh.

 

“Yeah,” Oliver says, less enthusiastic. “But he said that if we still want to when we’re old it would be cool!”

 

“We’ll just have to wait and see, I guess.” Derek shakes his head and lets himself laugh just a little. He texts Scott, who replies with a video. The thumbnail is a still of Jesse and Oliver in the tub, covered in ridiculous amounts of foam. He regretfully doesn’t watch it right away, and instead says, “We need to pick up some groceries on our way home, let’s get going,” and stands, picking up Oliver’s overnight bag and taking Oliver’s hand in his as they walk to the car.

 

Grocery shopping with Oliver is always an adventure in learning how to set limits. “No, we’re not getting that,” is said more often than anything else. For the most part, Oliver accepts it, but he keeps trying. Oliver has been too big to ride around in the cart for a good few years, so he’s walking in Derek’s periphery, picking things up from shelves and putting them back after Derek fixes him with a stern look and furrowed brows. Derek gets him to pick out the fruit and vegetables, urges him to figure out which ones are the freshest. Oliver absolutely beams when Derek approves of his choices. As reward, he lets him pick something out, and Oliver chooses a chocolate bar, as expected. Derek shakes his head but lets the cashier scan it and place it in one of their bags.

 

Oliver helps by carrying whatever he can once they’re home, and then insists on helping Derek make dinner. “Don’t you want to go watch some TV?” Derek asks, genuinely curious.

 

“Nope, wanna be with you here and help you make dinner,” Oliver announces and brings his stool closer to where Derek’s cleaning and breaking up broccoli florets to put in the pot of boiling water. There’s a pot of pasta already cooking on the stove and the tupperware with yesterday’s leftover chicken nuggets is waiting for Derek to cut them up once the broccoli is cooked and he can start making the sauce. He watches the video Scott sent earlier while he waits, and almost melts completely. It’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

 

“ _Guess we should start saving up for the wedding?”_ he texts Scott.

 

_“Dude, that was the best thing I’ve ever seen. I wish you and Stiles were here to see it!”_

 

_“Trust me, I do too.”_

 

Oliver sets the table while Derek stirs the sauce a few final times, then dishes it out and places both plates on the table. Derek keeps an eye on Oliver to make sure he doesn’t push around the broccoli on his plate instead of eating it and presents him with his chocolate bar once his plate is clean. The sleepover at Scott and Kira’s worked magic on Oliver’s mood, apparently, but once he’s dressed in his pajamas with his hair combed and a book in his lap, he turns somber again.

 

“Can you try calling dad?” he asks quietly, not looking at Derek.

 

Derek fishes out his phone from his back pocket with a little difficulty since he’s sitting down, but when it’s free he hits Stiles’ number on the speed dial screen of his phone. It doesn’t even ring, just goes straight to his voicemail, which means Stiles’ phone is probably off. “Sorry buddy,” Derek offers, wraps an arm around Oliver’s small body. “Dad’s probably busy,” he shrugs. “But we’ll talk to him tomorrow like he promised. Plus, there’s going to be that big surprise he told you about!” he adds with enthusiasm. Oliver gives him an unimpressed look that tells him he doesn’t really buy into Derek’s enthusiasm.

 

“Nothing smells like him anymore,” Oliver complains, leaning against Derek’s side.

 

“That’s not true, the entire house, our yard, the cabin - everything smells like him.” Derek squeezes Oliver even closer.

 

“But my clothes and the bed and - and even the bathroom doesn’t smell like his shampoo and the couch -” Oliver rambles, listing all the things that feel off to him.

 

“I know, I know,” Derek says quietly and lifts Oliver into his lap. “He’s been gone a lot longer than usual this time, you’re right.” He wraps him up entirely, envelopes him between his arms and legs. “It’s hard for me too, and I miss him very much. But he’s very, very close. I bet, if you imagined holding his hand _right now_ , it’ll feel like he’s holding yours.” Derek is improvising here, but he has a feeling it’ll work. The connection Stiles somehow learned to manipulate, this channeling of the pack bond and his druid magic, it always works when Stiles initiates the first contact. But the abundance of activity makes him think it might work right now. Oliver closes his eyes, breathing deeply. He shivers suddenly, and his eyes fly open and he flings his head backwards to look up at Derek, probably giving himself whiplash.

 

“Daddy it worked! It was like dad squeezed my hand really tight!” Oliver is grinning and Derek feels lighter. He rubs at his chest where Oliver’s head hit pretty hard and smiles down at him.

 

“Told you,” Derek says and kisses the top of Oliver’s head, taking a deep breath to take in that very special smell that is pure Oliver, making it last as long as it can. He smells like a cocktail that’s made out of Derek and Stiles and there’s a tinge of something completely original that Derek is addicted to. “Are we reading now?” Oliver hums his agreement and opens the book, reading slowly. Derek listens, encouraging him when he stumbles over longer words or ones that have weird spelling. He places both hands, one on top of the other, on the crown of Oliver’s head and waits until he’s done, then he turns on the full moon night light that Stiles bought because he thinks he’s funny and tucks Oliver under the warm blanket that Oliver usually kicks off during the night when he gets hot.

 

“Stay,” Oliver asks gently, letting one hand out from under the blanket to hold onto Derek’s arm.

 

“Okay,” Derek sits back down, this time next to the bed, and rubs circles on Oliver’s back while he’s lying on his stomach. He continues doing it until Oliver is completely out, then slowly gets up and walks across the hall to his bedroom to take a shower before bed. Even though yesterday was rough, Derek feels lighter somehow when he’s finally lying in bed. He takes the book that’s on his nightstand and reads until his eyes start to fall shut and he accidentally drops it on his face, startling himself awake. That’s the point where he puts it aside and turns off the reading lamp, smiling to himself in the near-darkness. He has a good feeling about tomorrow.

 

~~~~~

 

Derek wakes up to the sound of small, bare feet running into his bedroom. His eyes are open, but he’s still mostly asleep when Oliver jumps on top of him, thankfully not hitting any important organs. It’s…before six, when Derek checks for the time, and he wrinkles his nose. “Why are you awake so early.” He can’t even form the sentence as a question.

 

Oliver slaps Derek’s chest merrily, scratching through the hair there. Oliver looks at where his fingers are playing and tilts his head to the side, eyes flicking from Derek’s chest to his unshaved chin. “You have more grey hairs on your chest,” he observes, and goes back to slapping him gently.

 

“While that’s true, I’m still wondering why you’re awake,” Derek repeats and stretches his arms.

 

“I don’t know, I just woke up and I wanted you to know,” Oliver shrugs, unperturbed with Derek’s disgruntlement.

 

“Reasonable,” Derek says with sarcasm that flies right above Oliver’s head.

 

“Daddy can we go to the woods so you can go wolf again?” Oliver asks with a wide, innocent smile, and lies down on Derek’s chest. Derek notes that Oliver lost the socks he was wearing when Derek put him down to sleep, wonders absently where they ended up.

 

Derek cups Oliver’s cheeks between his hands, enveloping his face entirely. “No,” he says with a smile.

 

“But --!”

 

“No butts. The only butt allowed in this bed right now is this one,” Derek says and taps Oliver’s.

 

Oliver’s brows furrow. “What about yours?”

 

Derek laughs, surprised. “You got me there, puppy,” he says, nodding as much as he can while lying down. “My butt and your butt. Only those.”

 

Oliver giggles and the sound reaches down into Derek’s chest and settles there. Something he knows he’ll come back to on a bad day. “You said butt a lot,” Oliver observes, and he decides to poke his finger into Derek’s dimple. It’s gentle, but Derek scrunches his face with surprise, and catches Oliver’s hand before he can take it back and kisses his fingers.

 

“Guess I miss dad, felt like he needed to be a part of the conversation,” Derek says casually, joking, and Oliver’s smile shrinks a little. “Hey, hey, no,” he says and puts both his pointer fingers to Oliver’s dimples. Derek has one on his right cheek and Stiles has one on his left. Oliver has two. It’s the best. He’s the cutest kid ever if you’re asking Derek. “Smile, baby. Dad’s surprise is gonna be waiting for you today!”

 

Oliver cheers up minutely and he lies back down on top of Derek. “Can we pleaseee go out to the preserve?” Oliver tries again, grinning at Derek, dragging out the ‘please’ in a whine.

 

“Nope,” Derek refuses again in a light tone, using both hands to pet Oliver’s hair.

 

“But daaaaddyyyy,” Oliver whines dramatically.

 

“What was it I said about butts in this bed?” Derek pretends to think. Oliver groans, burying his face in Derek’s chest. “I’m not the one who woke up too early,” Derek defends himself. “Let’s go play a game in your room,” he says and uses his elbows to sit up, Oliver straightening along with him. “Let’s go put a puzzle together, come on. One of the big ones, see how far we can get.”

 

Oliver scoots back off of Derek and jumps to the floor, then skips over to the door and looks back at Derek, making sure he’s following. Derek smiles at him and makes a small shooing motion once he’s standing, walking behind Oliver.

 

“Which one do you want to work on?” Derek asks and Oliver points at the wolf one with 200 pieces. Stiles keeps buying wolf themed everything, if he’s not buying DC merchandise. Oliver has the three wolves howling at the moon shirt. Derek was going to burn it but Oliver _loves_ it, so he didn’t. “Are you sure? It’s a big one, we won’t have time to finish it,” he warns.

 

“I’m sure. I want the wolf one,” Oliver insists and stares at Derek until Derek sighs and takes it down from the top shelf. They sit down, Oliver at his little table, Derek cross-legged on the floor next to him. Oliver insists Derek can’t help, so Derek sits quietly and watches Oliver build from the corner in, slowly but surely. He holds back from saying anything when he sees Oliver struggling, and it’s so relaxing that Derek gets carried away and only notices the time when he absently looks up at the wall clock. At first Derek isn’t even checking the time, just looks at the stars and the big full moon on it. He had the Hale family triskele painted in the middle, just so he can have something subtle to symbolize this house belongs to Hales. He hasn’t explained the significance of it to Oliver yet, even though Oliver is very familiar with his tattoo, but it felt right to have it. Necessary even. Stiles just kissed him when he brought it home, told him he loved it and asked him if he wanted to put it in Oliver’s room. Derek didn’t even think about where it would go when he got it, but of course Stiles knew the perfect place.

 

When he notices that it’s 6:50am, he jumps to stand up, and Oliver looks up at him, startled. “Ollie, let’s go brush your teeth, think about what you want to wear while we’re doing it,” he says urgently, helping Oliver move carefully away from the table without jostling anything. “Ollie, now, or we’ll be late,” Derek urges, then follows him to help with the toothpaste before rushing into his own bedroom to get ready quickly. By the time he’s done Oliver has a pair of red khakis on with a striped t-shirt that he just _knows_ Stiles is somehow responsible for, but he doesn’t have the time to try and convince Oliver to change. Derek just sighs, and helps Oliver put a pair of socks on before they go downstairs. Derek pours out a bowl of cereal and milk for Oliver and works on their lunch for the day while Oliver eats.

 

“Daddy, aren’t you going to eat breakfast?” Oliver asks, spoon suspended in the air between the bowl and his mouth, milk dripping on the kitchen table.

 

Derek smiles, so touched at how genuinely worried Oliver looks at the thought that Derek isn’t eating. “It’s okay, puppy, I’ll get something on my way to work. It’s grandpa’s donut day anyway,” he jokes, smirking.

 

“Dad said grandpa’s not allowed to have donuts.” Oliver sounds suspicious.

 

“Well, dad is exaggerating, and I won’t tell him. Are you gonna tell him?” Derek challenges with a raised brow. He’s packing up the sandwich, cut up apple and carrot sticks.

 

Oliver hesitates for a moment. “Dad says it’s not nice to tattle,” he says eventually and Derek laughs.

 

“Yep, he definitely does. So no tattling on grandpa having donuts,” Derek warns and then he laughs.

 

“Promise I won’t.” Oliver crosses his heart like Derek does. It’s charming.

 

“You done, baby?” Derek asks once he’s finished packing everything into lunch bags and washing all the dishes besides Oliver’s bowl and spoon.

 

Oliver nods and jumps off the chair, running off to put on a pair of Converse that Stiles insisted he needs to own even though Derek insisted it’s the worst shoe ever made orthopedic-wise. Oliver sits and waits patiently for Derek to be done with the buttons on his shirt and his own shoes before he asks Derek to help him tie the laces.

 

They’re out the door a little later than usual but not by much, on time enough for Oliver not to be late and for Derek to only be a little late, but he’s sure everyone will forgive him when he shows up with donuts. John isn’t there when he arrives, and Derek distinctly remembers that they were actually supposed to work together for once.

 

“Hey, George, where’s the Sheriff?” he asks when he passes by the front desk after he went to check on John in the office and found that the door was locked.

 

“He’s _your_ father in law,” George scoffs at him, laughing a little. “Said to tell you he had to go pick up a package from Stiles,” he adds after a moment of Derek glaring at him.

 

Derek’s features soften. “Oh, yeah,” he nods, ears going pink with embarrassment. He goes over to his desk, greeting Patty with a good morning, and places the two dozen donuts he brought next to the coffee machine. People swarm in seconds later, probably following the smell. Derek always gets the _good_ donuts, and everybody knows it.

 

John comes in a good few hours later, and he _reeks_ of Stiles. Derek can smell it all the way from the bullpen. He walks over to the office and reels a little at how strong the scent is after so long. “You smell like you rolled around in…Stiles,” Derek tries to make himself sound anything but bitter but he misses by a mile.

 

John laughs. “He said you’d say that. He did something to the package. Enhanced the scent? I’m not sure. But it’s waiting for you guys at home.”

 

Derek listens to John’s heartbeat. He isn’t lying. It _sounds_ like something Stiles would do, but it’s not sitting right with Derek. “You’re not lying but you’re also not…telling me something.”

 

“You’re a terrible detective, for someone with super senses,” John laughs again. “Come on, Derek. You’re not obtuse. Figure it out.”

 

Derek thinks for a few minutes, looks at John with narrowed eyes, and there’s a fleeting thought that maybe Stiles came home early? But that’s so unlikely. If there’s one thing Stiles never does, it’s come home before everything is over and done with. He just can’t leave things open.

 

“Considering rescinding that recommendation to promote you to deputy sheriff,” John teases, shaking his head at Derek.

 

“Everybody will think it’s favoritism anyway,” Derek shrugs it off. “So you’re not going to tell me?” he deflates, tries to appeal to John’s heart with a particularly pitiful expression that he knows works with Stiles.

 

John tries to hide his laughter behind his hand, but he’s not very successful. “Nope,” John says, and the way he pops the end of the word, the self-satisfied expression on his face - they’re both so very Stiles. “But, I am releasing you early. Head home, son. Grab Ollie on the way.”

 

Derek is not going to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. “You’re worse than Stiles,” he huffs. “But I’ll take it. See you for dinner tonight?” Friday night dinner at Stiles and Derek’s house was a thing that happened accidentally but no one is willing to change. It’s John and Melissa, and once every couple of weeks Scott and Kira as well. It’s nice.

 

“He had to learn from someone,” John shrugs with a smirk. “I’ll see you at dinner, son.” He waves Derek out of the office and Derek lingers another moment after his eyes catch on Oliver’s most recent piece of art, a drawing of John and Melissa together. He takes a picture of it with his phone and waves absently on his way out.

 

The other cops in the station watch him pack up his belongings and start booing jokingly.

 

“Nepotism!”

 

“One hundred percent true. I’ll see you Monday!” Derek says cheerfully, remembering he took the weekend off, and walks out to his car. He drives to the school, actually humming along to the music on the radio. He thinks maybe the strong scent of Stiles that attacked his senses in John’s office had some effects on his mood but he doesn’t mind. He parks at the school and takes the steps to the office two at a time, having to charm the lovely secretary into letting him take his own child home early at his discretion. It’s strangely difficult. He has to present ID, and his police badge. On the one hand, he appreciates the nit-pickiness and the extra careful measures about letting just anyone take kids from the school, but on the other hand, he really just wants to grab his kid and go see what’s waiting for him at home. When he’s finally given the correct form he marches over to Oliver’s classroom and watches through the small window how Oliver strains not to leave his chair even though he knows Derek is there. Derek makes a funny face through the window and doesn’t realize a few other kids saw him there until laughter erupts throughout the class. Derek quickly opens the door to avoid having to explain to Mrs. Johnson what just happened.

 

“Hi, I’m picking Oliver up early,” he says with a wide, charming smile, hoping she doesn’t pick up on why the kids’ laughter became louder as soon as he came in. He hands over the form the secretary had him fill out, and raises expectant eyebrows at Oliver, who takes that as a sign to jump out of his seat and run over to him. Derek picks him up and hugs him close.

 

“Daddy, school’s not over yet,” Oliver whispers into his neck, like he’s making sure Derek is aware of the fact, but doing it quietly so he’s not embarrassing him.

 

“Mmhmm, but grandpa said I could go home early because dad’s surprise arrived. If you want, I can leave _you_ here for the rest of the day…” Derek trails off with a teasing tone, but Oliver doesn’t even let him finish.

 

“NOPE! HOME!” He yells and Derek almost drops him, shaking his head at the level of noise he was assaulted with.

 

“We have to teach you how to use your inside voice,” Derek says mostly to himself. “Alright, now that you’re ready to leave, say bye to your friends and Mrs. Johnson,” he prompts, placing Oliver back on the floor so he can go and pack his things into his backpack.

 

It’s a very big surprise that Oliver doesn’t break out of the booster chair during the drive home, he’s so fidgety and excited. It’s making _Derek_ fidgety and excited. “What do you think it is?” Derek asks, curious to know what Oliver might have come up with.

 

“A _kangaroo_!” Oliver kicks the back of Derek’s seat in his excitement. Derek lets it slide.

 

“Maybe a _stuffed_ kangaroo,” Derek amends.

 

“But he already got me a stuffed kangaroo the last time he was…where the kangaroos are,” Oliver huffs, probably offended that Derek doesn’t remember every single stuffed animal he owns. (There are way too many).

 

“Australia,” Derek fills in the blank in Oliver’s sentence. “Dad is in Australia. Hm, maybe he got you a stuffed koala bear this time,” he speculates, catches Oliver’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

 

Oliver narrows his eyes, considering it. “Okay, but what if he got me --”

 

Derek had just parked the car in the driveway and opened the door, so it takes him a second to realize Oliver’s stopped talking. “What? Ollie?” He opens the back door to check on Oliver and let him out but this time he _does_ break out of the booster seat and he’s running towards the front door like his ass is on fire. He _breaks through the door_ , using full strength until the lock and hinges give up. The wood splinters a little where he hits it, and he’s screaming “DAD DAD DAD!” stopping Derek in his tracks before he suddenly gets it.

 

 _Stiles is home_. He leans against the car and bangs his forehead against it a few times before he manages to collect what’s left of his dignity and walk inside. He stops to absently look over the door and see if it’s fixable, but then Stiles is coming down the stairs with Oliver climbing all over him and Derek just forgets about it. Stiles looks like Oliver just woke him up - which he possibly did, probably trampled all over Stiles if he was in bed. He’s wearing his comfiest pair of boxers, which Derek knows are the ones he wears on long flights, and his hair is standing up in every direction. When Oliver is content just hanging off of Stiles’ shoulders, the skin there red with Oliver’s loving abuse, Stiles finally notices Derek, and he starts laughing.

 

Derek is willing to bet cash money that John had time to tell him just how stupidly blind Derek is.

 

“I told dad not to go to work because I thought you’d figure it out,” Stiles is still laughing, walking closer to Derek. Stiles looks beyond him at the broken door and winces, but then his eyes are back on Derek and they’re a little shinier than usual so Derek leans in to kiss him, something short and sweet that he can only dream of being enough. Then Stiles wraps him up in a tight hug and Derek’s arms go around Stiles and Oliver behind him as well. Oliver seems to be content where he is, growling merrily like a playful puppy.

 

“I can’t believe I let your Stiles ‘never leaves a job undone’ Stilinski reputation block out the fact that your dad smelled like you spent three hours hugging each other,” Derek huffs, burying his face in Stiles’ neck.

 

“Stilinski-Hale, excuse you,” Stiles corrects, sounding a little weepy, carding his fingers through Derek’s hair. “And no one said I didn’t finish the job,” he adds, pulling back a little to wink at Derek.

 

Derek drops his arms, takes a step back. “What did you do?”

 

Stiles sags a little, looking tired again, helps Oliver down to the floor but keeps him close. Derek can see the sideburns even though Oliver’s face is buried in Stiles’ leg, still growling quietly. Stiles’ hand is combing methodically through Oliver’s hair and Derek is hypnotized by the movement before Stiles clears his throat. “I…may have…forced…the treaty. A little.”

 

Derek’s blood boils. He thinks his eyes even flash red. “ _Stiles!_ That’s --”

 

Stiles’ raises his hands in a placating motion, and Derek stops to listen. “I know. It’s dangerous. And dumb. But it wouldn’t have ended otherwise. And I wasn’t going to leave before the Tasmanian Wolves had their territory back, but I was also very much done waiting for that douchebag to pull his head out of his ass.” Stiles radiates anger and Oliver takes a worried step away from him. Stiles immediately deflates and pulls Oliver close again. “Sorry baby, you know how I feel about idiots,” he jokes, raises Oliver’s head by his chin so they can look at each other. Oliver snorts like he only does around Stiles and Derek’s heart melts. He didn’t even realize he missed that sound.

 

“How did you do it?” Derek asks quietly, as he steps back towards Stiles, cupping the side of his face with a hand. Stiles looks more than tired; there are black circles around his eyes, he’s a little pale and -- “Are those grey hairs?” Derek asks curiously, letting his fingers run down Stiles’ faintly graying temples.

 

“ _No_ -” Stiles starts and then pinches his nose with the hand not in Oliver’s hair. “I mean, it’s not permanent. My tattoos are faded too, see?” Stiles waves one of his arms in front of Derek’s eyes. “I just need some rest, it’ll all go back to normal in a few days,” he sighs.

 

Derek follows the lines of ink going down Stiles’ arms from his shoulders, where he knows they all connect on his back, to a triskele just like Derek’s. They do look a little more faded than usual. “You marked the territory without the Alpha’s permission,” Derek guesses, tone quiet, a little disappointed, mostly worried.

 

Stiles sighs and nods, doesn’t look Derek in the eyes when he confirms Derek’s suspicion.

 

“He could have _killed_ you.” Derek sees Oliver flinch from the corner of his eye where he’s leveling a stare at Stiles. Stiles’s fingers spasm in Oliver’s hair, and he shuts his eyes for a moment.

 

“He tried,” Stiles admits. “Didn’t really work out for him,” he shrugs, plasters on a fake smile for Derek.

 

Derek tilts his head, thinking. Stiles’ smile turns into something more genuine at the gesture. “Did _you_ \--”

 

The soft smile drops from Stiles’ lips. “ _No!_ No, of course not. No. What a shitstorm that would be, god, Derek.” Stiles actually chuckles darkly then, and leans forward to kiss Derek’s forehead. Derek sags and gathers him in a hug again, smothering Oliver between them. Oliver doesn’t seem to mind, just turns so he can have an arm around Derek’s leg as well.

 

He pushes them apart a little to look up at both of them, and Stiles makes a weird, proud noise when he watches Oliver’s face ripple and change back into human. “What’s a shitstorm?” he asks, feigning innocence like he thinks they’ll buy it.

 

“It is a storm --” Stiles starts, because he loves those types of questions.

 

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek warns, trying not to laugh and failing miserably.

 

“It’s an expression, baby. It’s like saying that something is a really big mess,” Stiles amends, grinning.

 

“So it’s not a storm of poop,” Oliver says, definitely on purpose, because he knows Stiles will start laughing. Stiles, predictably, cracks up and crouches down to wrap up Oliver tightly in a hug.

 

“Why am I married to you.” Derek buries his face in his hands, but he’s laughing too.

 

“I _think_ it’s ‘cause you love me, but I’m not sure. Jog my memory?” Stiles grins up at him and Oliver joins and Derek needs to hold himself back very hard from pulling his phone out and taking a picture.

 

“Definitely because I love you,” Derek agrees and takes Stiles’ hand so he can pull him back to his feet.

 

“That’s good, because I definitely married you for your butt.” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows and grins again.

 

Derek shoves him away playfully, groaning. “There is a child here.” He points at Oliver.

 

“He knows I love your butt.” Stiles shrugs and Oliver nods.

 

“I do know,” Oliver pipes up and Stiles starts cracking up again while Derek blushes, red starting at the very tips of his ears and blooming down to his chest, probably. Stiles looks down his neckline curiously.

 

“Okay, now that it’s settled and everyone knows I love daddy _and_ his butt, we can go make something to eat because I’m _starving_ ,” Stiles says and rubs his stomach, which Derek can actually hear growling a little. He lingers on the trail of hair going down Stiles’ stomach for a few seconds, can’t help himself, before Oliver distracts him.

 

“Can we have pizza?” Oliver asks excitedly, and Derek knows he knows exactly what he’s doing. Well, it’s not going to work.

 

“ _No_ , because we had pizza on Tuesday,” Derek says quickly, darting a challenging look at Stiles. Stiles just laughs, then leans over and kisses Derek, combing his long fingers through his hair again. Derek’s eyes fall shut for a second.

 

“You took the whole ‘radio silence’ thing pretty badly, huh?” Stiles asks quietly and Derek sighs and nods, doesn’t add anything. “Sorry guys. I _did_ tell you it was for something good,” he adds defensively, and Derek huffs.

 

“It would have been a million times better if you just said --” Derek starts and Stiles cuts him off.

 

“Nope, uh-uh. You would have told me not to do it and then I would have had to stay in Australia forever. It had to happen,” Stiles insists.

 

Derek sighs dramatically and walks to the kitchen. “Put some clothes on before you cook in my kitchen,” he says with a wink and a thorough once-over of Stiles.

 

“ _Your_ kitchen?”

 

“Mine. Clothes,” Derek says, grinning, and makes a shooing motion at Stiles.

 

“I’m taking a hostage with me,” Stiles sniffs dramatically and just grabs Oliver by the middle and carries him away, their son shrieking with laughter, asking Stiles to stop tickling him. “Nope, I’ve missed out on three whole weeks of tickles. You’re not going anywhere now,” Derek hears Stiles say upstairs in the bedroom. He listens as Stiles drops Oliver gently on the bed, hearing the closet open and close, fabric rustling. Oliver is still laughing. Stiles walks back into the kitchen dressed in a pair of Derek’s sweatpants, light heather grey ones that are old and soft, that are a little too short for him, just by two inches or so, and an old, faded dark blue police academy t-shirt that might be Derek’s but also might actually be one of John’s. Oliver is hanging off his back, and this time Derek is ready and he snaps a picture of Stiles in profile grinning at Oliver.

 

He sends it to John. _“Thank you.”_

 

_“No, thank you.”_

 

“Are you texting the lover you’ve taken while I was away?” Stiles asks, trying to look at Derek’s screen.

 

“Your father is a happily married man, I wouldn’t dare come between him and Melissa,” Derek says haughtily, and shows Stiles the text conversation on his phone.

 

“Oh, _ew_ , oh my _god_. What an image. I have never needed anything less in my life,” Stiles groans dramatically, playing it up for Oliver’s sake, who starts laughing again.

 

“You’re going to look like him one day,” Derek shrugs, smirks at Stiles.

 

Stiles gasps, offended. “I will _no_ \--!” he starts and then stops, thinks. “Maybe,” he ends up saying, fingers feeling at his temporarily greying temples.

 

“I like it,” Derek says offhandedly. “Looks distinguished.” He’s quoting what Stiles said when Derek found his first grey hairs.

 

“Oh, very funny. What are you making? I _am_ actually hungry.” Stiles crowds Derek from behind, wrapping his arms around him.

 

Derek revels in the feeling for a little bit. “Grilled cheese. It’s Friday, remember? Your dad and Melissa are coming over for dinner later.” Derek turns around in his embrace so he can look at him and fake-knocks on Stiles’ forehead.

 

“Is Jesse coming?” Oliver pipes up excitedly and Derek has to think for a moment.

 

“No, baby, sorry. Jesse’s having dinner with his grandparents today,” Derek says.

 

“But -”

 

“His _other_ grandparents,” Derek explains before Oliver even has time to gear up with a counter-argument. Oliver deflates, then walks over and glues himself to Stiles’ legs.

 

“We’ll go visit them tomorrow,” Stiles promises and ruffles Oliver’s hair fondly. “Okay, while daddy makes us delicious food, why don’t I show you the cool stuff I brought home?” he asks, and walks away from Derek, almost out of the kitchen.

 

“Can you --” Derek starts before trying to stop himself, but ends up saying it anyway. “Can you show them…here?” he asks carefully. He glances back to look at Stiles, a little embarrassed.

 

Stiles’ entire demeanor softens. “Of course.” He walks back over to Derek, kisses him for entirely too long a time considering their son is right there, and pulls back with a soft smile. “Check out what I learned in Australia.” His smile turns mischievous, and he wiggles his fingers in that silly way that means he’s going to do something…magical, for lack of a better word. Derek watches him close his eyes and take a deep breath. His tattoos start glowing, which is…new.

 

“What is happening,” Derek asks faintly, while Oliver starts jumping up and down.

 

“DAD’S GLOWING! DADDY DID YOU SEE? DAD IS GLOWING!!! HE LOOKS LIKE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS DAD HOW ARE YOU GLOWING CAN _I GLOW TOO??”_

 

“Baby, I think sprouting sideburns and claws and _fangs_ and glowy gold eyes are definitely enough for one awesome boy,” Stiles says, grinning at Oliver. “As for what’s happening, Aboriginal emissaries are very cool and were willing to teach me how to both look like Christmas lights and…” he trails off and snaps his fingers, eyes closing again, and an entire suitcase lands out of thin air next to Stiles’ legs. The glowing takes a good long minute to fade out.

 

“What.” Derek is…way more turned on than he’ll ever let anyone know, but he tamps that down in favor of figuring out what the hell is going on. “You kept explaining Harry Potter magic isn’t real.”

 

“Well, that’s what I thought,” Stiles starts, and he crouches down, places the suitcase on the floor so he can open it. “Turns out though, if you mix up druid and shaman stuff, you get Harry Potter. Sort of. There’s a few other things in the mix.” Stiles shrugs, unzips the suitcase. A stupidly large stuffed koala bear pops out.

 

“I _knew_ you were getting him a koala this time!” Derek crows, victorious. And then he looks at the stuffed animal again. “Did you _shrink it_ so it’d fit?” He has abandoned the food completely and is now sitting on the floor next to Oliver, peering curiously inside.

 

“Cool trick, huh?” Stiles grins at him.

 

Derek is _almost_ distracted. “Wait, no, what are those other things in the _mix_?” he asks, not sure if he wants to know.

 

“Blood of my enemies,” Stiles jokes, and Derek smacks his arm. “Some pixie magic. Native American. Some things I learned while I was in Uzbekistan and Georgia,” Stiles lists off absentmindedly, handing the koala over to Oliver, who hugs it close and takes a few seconds to find the best way to keep holding onto it and still look inside the suitcase. “You know, stuff I’ve been learning,” he shrugs, and hands Derek a small wooden box. “That’s for you,” he explains redundantly, but Derek kisses his cheek and thanks him anyway. It has the Hale triskele on it, right in the center. Stiles plops down so he’s also sitting instead of crouching and watches Derek expectantly. “Well, Mr. Hale, this is a box, and usually what we do with boxes is we open them,” he says when he decides Derek has been staring at it for too long.

 

“Hale-Stilinski,” Derek corrects automatically. He turns the box around a little, traces his fingers over the tiny carvings that go all around the triskele and the box. Druid symbols, most of them, some he knows, some he doesn’t.

 

“Damn straight.” Stiles puffs out his chest proudly, but shrinks in on himself a little when Derek still isn’t opening the box. “Can you just --”

 

Derek opens the box and Stiles exhales. There’s a ring inside. “We’re already married. We already _have_ rings.”

 

“Well yeah, but those are human marriage rings,” Stiles says, and his tone _sounds_ lighthearted, but Derek knows better. He looks up at him.

 

“Is this...” Derek trails off, awed, takes the platinum band out of the box. He turns it around, looks at it inside and out, more intricate engravings decorating the ring all over. He thinks he knows what it is, but he can’t find the words.

 

“It’s supposed to be wood, I know, but I wanted something sturdier,” Stiles starts rambling. “I looked it up and it should still work, I’ve been researching this forever actually -”

 

Derek closes one palm around the ring and uses the other one to bring Stiles closer for a kiss that quiets him, fingers running over the slight stubble that Stiles probably didn’t have time to take care of while in transit. When they break apart Derek smiles at Oliver, who’s staring curiously at them, distracted from the new toys he found in Stiles’ suitcase. “Where did you even find a mating ring?” Derek asks, looking at it gleaming in the kitchen light on his palm. He remembers the wooden bands his parents used to wear, suddenly understands why Stiles decided to make theirs platinum instead.

 

“I...uh, I made it?” Stiles shrugs, looking at Derek like he’s still not sure what he’s thinking. “I mean, I am the - uh, the emissary, of the pack, and -”

 

“It’s perfect.” Derek stops him with a soft smile and another kiss.

 

“Awesome, so we can do the whole ceremony thing on the next full moon,” Stiles pretends to move on cheerfully, but Derek can hear his fast-beating heart and smell the salt of unshed tears.  

 

“Am _I_ going to be there?” Oliver asks, he sounds excited but unsure.

 

“Of course you are! You’re a pretty integral part of the whole deal. There’s also a ring for you in there, but we’ll hold onto it for you until you’re older, okay, buddy?” Oliver nods, and then looks at Derek, worried about what he's reading off of him.

 

“You made _him_ a mating ring?” Now Derek is definitely going to cry.

 

“Well -- no, don’t cry, that’s not fair,” Stiles huffs, using a gentle thumb to wipe away a tear Derek didn’t manage to hold back. “Well,” he continues bravely, looking down. “He’s going to get married too one day, right, buddy?” Stiles directs the question at Oliver with a bright smile.

 

“Yeah, I’m gonna marry Jesse! He’s my best friend!”

 

Stiles freezes completely. “That’s...new,” he says after a full minute of sitting completely still and staring at Oliver. Oliver looks like he’s not sure what’s going on, and Derek thinks it might be because Stiles looks like he does when he’s about to get very angry but his chemosignals are _screaming_ “this is the best thing that ever happened.” Derek can also tell there’s something Stiles really wants to do, almost vibrating out of his own skin while restraining himself, and Derek assumes it’s probably to call and yell with Scott for a little bit. He gets it. It’s very cute.

 

“Yeah, he let me know after he spent the night at Scott and Kira’s place,” Derek says knowingly. “Scott sent me a video of the original proposal.”

 

Stiles’ jaw falls open. “No. Way.”

 

Derek starts laughing. “Way,” he confirms. Stiles starts slapping him not-so-playfully.

 

“How, the, hell, did, you, not, send, me, that!” Each word is punctuated with a smack to Derek’s arm. “How is it not in the family group chat?! I feel betrayed!”

 

“You were on radio silence, Stiles.” Derek hits him where it hurts. A little.

 

Stiles’ arm drops. “Fair,” he says, chin dropping onto his propped up knee. “But actually, you know what? Still not fair, you could totally have sent that on the family group chat,” he says, indignant again. The family group chat consists of them, John, Melissa, Scott, Kira and Kira’s parents. It’s mostly for exchanging pictures and making decisions about what holiday will be celebrated where.

 

“I'll show it to you later,” Derek laughs and wraps an arm around Stiles’ shoulder.

 

Stiles slumps. “I swear I'm never missing anything like that ever again,” he says.

 

Oliver’s eyes narrow. “Cross your heart?”

 

Stiles buries his face in his hands, rubs at his eyes with the base of his palms. “I can't,” he explains. “Sometimes I really _do_ have to go. But I swear I won’t go for anything less than a life and death emergency,” Stiles promises, leveling Oliver with a look and crossing his heart with a solemn expression. Oliver lets go of the stuffed koala and scoots over to join Stiles and Derek. He crawls into Stiles’ lap, and buries his face in Stiles’ neck. Stiles wraps him up in his arms and Derek kisses Stiles’ greying temple. He actually does like the look, thinks he might miss it once it’s gone.

 

Derek places the ring back in its box carefully and hands it to Stiles. “Keep it safe for me until the full moon,” he asks, then stands up and walks over to the counter. Stiles looks a little bereft. “I’m making you food, don’t give me that look,” Derek huffs, and Stiles breaks out his grin instead, causing Derek to fumble the butter knife he was holding.

 

Stiles laughs, and Derek turns back to the counter. “Hey, Ollie,” Stiles whispers, a little muffled. Derek thinks he’s probably got his lips against Oliver’s head. “Let’s check out what else I got you, hm?”

 

Derek glances behind him just as Stiles picks Oliver up a few inches off the floor and turns him around so he can still sit in his lap while they both face the suitcase. Stiles has his nose pressed to Oliver’s hair, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think it’s a wolf thing. But apparently it’s just a parent thing. There’s nothing you don’t miss about your own child when you haven’t seen them for even a few hours, sometimes. Stiles takes out three new action figures - Derek’s pretty certain it’s Star Wars this time - some new clothes, and a new pair of shoes because he noticed the Nike pair were getting a little crowded in the toes.

 

Derek only listens, busy with the grilled cheese, and then Oliver’s running over to him, holding something out for him to see. “Daddy! Daddy look, dad got me an Iron Man costume for Halloween!” Oliver is bouncing excitedly, showing Derek the body suit, “With A Real Light Up Arc Reactor!” says a sticker on the chest of the suit, and Derek looks down more carefully at it, smiling as he looks at the LED display on the front.

 

“That’s really, really cool,” Derek admits, smirking at Stiles. “Iron Man, hm?” he teases.

 

“It’s got a light-up arc reactor, Derek,” Stiles huffs. “I couldn’t not buy it.”

 

“Pretty sure they make them in the US as well and that you said no to it last year.” Derek pretends to think about it.

 

“Yeah, well, I missed you and your dumb love of Marvel, even though you’re a classic Batman,” Stiles huffs, folding his arms over his chest defensively. He ponders for a second, then corrects: “No, not Batman. Wolfman.”

 

“Your wit never ceases to amaze me,” Derek says dryly but he laughs anyway. “Food’s ready,” he announces a few minutes later, placing three plates on the table for the first time in three weeks.

 

Stiles moans dramatically, sniffing at the air like a starved animal, and stands, helping Oliver up with a hand. Stiles sits down on his chair and instead of letting Oliver climb up on his own chair, he grabs him and pulls him into his lap.

 

“Daaad,” Oliver whines, but he’s smiling and Derek takes another picture because he wants to and he can and Stiles will never blame him for hoarding pictures of his family after all the pictures he lost.

 

“Look, little dude. One day _very_ soon, you’re gonna start thinking sitting in your dad’s lap is not cool. And I just missed three whole weeks of lap-sitting time with you, _and_ had to watch you sit with daddy and pretend I’m not jealous. So you’re just gonna have to eat your lunch sitting on my lap today,” Stiles says, handing Oliver his grilled cheese before picking up his own and taking a big bite out of it. “Probably tomorrow too. Possibly until I feel like letting you go, which might not be too soon,” he adds with his mouth still a little full and Derek scoffs to cover up his smile. “Or ever,” Stiles finishes once he swallows down his bite.

 

“Why would I think it’s not cool?” Oliver frowns with confusion, looking at Derek for guidance.

 

Stiles doesn’t say anything but he makes this delighted noise, something that sounds like he couldn’t help it, and drops his sandwich on his plate so he can wrap his arms around Oliver and bury his face in his back, blowing a raspberry. Oliver laughs delightedly, squirming in Stiles’ hold to try and escape the tickling.

 

“Daddy save me! He’s being a tickle monster!” Oliver yells, still laughing. Derek laughs and watches Stiles’ quick fingers fly all over Oliver’s little body, playing him like a piano, but doesn’t move to “help,” just looks on, committing all the sounds and scents and sights to memory.

 

Eventually Stiles plants a loud kiss on the top of Oliver’s head and holds him gently as he recovers from his laughter. He picks up his sandwich and takes another Stiles-sized bite (probably a third of the sandwich), then releases his hold on Oliver so he can go back to eating as well. “Are there no vegetables in this house?” he comments, fairly lightly, but Derek can hear the edge.

 

“I had carrot sticks this morning!” Oliver says defensively.

 

“Mm, your daddy knows better than to stop feeding you veggies when I’m gone. Wolves are carnivores but werewolves still have that ‘were’ part to worry about,” Stiles says, in his ‘old and wise’ voice.

 

“I don’t turn into a sixteen year old when you’re gone,” Derek huffs, kicking Stiles under the table.

 

Stiles doesn’t even flinch, but uses it to wrap his socked feet around Derek’s ankle, keeping him close. “Mm, sixteen year old you was cute, I’d be sad if I missed him,” Stiles winks at him and Derek feels his ears turn red, and he sees Stiles’ eyes focus on it, his smirk turning into something a little different. “But that’s unrelated, where are my veggies?” Stiles asks.

 

Derek rolls his eyes but reaches behind him to a plate on the counter, where there are carrot and cucumber sticks and a few cherry tomatoes that Derek bought on a whim. Ollie and Derek love them, but Stiles hates them.

 

“Those had better not have touched the other stuff,” Stiles warns when he sees the halved tomatoes on the plate.

 

“I know how to feed my husband, who’s apparently three years old,” Derek says, shaking his head.

 

“Tomatoes are gross, and it’s gross when their juice gets on everything else,” Stiles says. “That’s my view and I’m sticking to it.”

 

“Mmhmm, your dad said you gave him the very same speech when you were five,” Derek grins, and shrugs. “More for me and Ollie, right baby?” he asks and Oliver takes one of the tomato halves and bites into it, on purpose, so all the juice goes flying and has Stiles flailing away from it.

 

“Stop ganging up on me with your love of tomatoes,” Stiles groans, wiping away a seed that flopped on his arm. Oliver just laughs and Stiles takes a tissue and wipes Oliver’s juice-covered fingers. Oliver takes another tomato with his other hand and waves it in Stiles’ general direction. Stiles groans, pushing it away as gently as possible while still definitely getting the tomato away from his face.

 

“I had to sit through dinner with your dad and Melissa and they ganged up on _me_ , you’re going to be dealing with a lot of ganging up against you,” Derek warns playfully, brings his other foot to join the game of footsie Stiles has been keeping up.

 

“Can I sleep some more before I have to deal with my dad’s smug face _again_?” Stiles groans, throwing his head back. Oliver leans back against his chest, crunching through a couple of carrot sticks.

 

“I like your dad’s smug face, reminds me of you,” Derek shrugs, smiling fondly. Stiles chews through a carrot stick and a cucumber stick together, then finishes one last bite of the grilled cheese. Derek feels one socked foot give his leg a final caress and then Stiles pulls his legs back.

 

“Since this little monkey _literally_ broke through the door --” Stiles starts and Oliver turns in his lap, angry.

 

“I’m not a monkey, I’m a wolf!”

 

“You’re a cub at best,” Stiles jokes, “but what I was saying is that I didn’t get to sleep. Although I don’t want to sleep now that you guys are home. Let’s go watch something dumb on the TV so I can pretend not to fall asleep on daddy’s shoulder, okay?” he asks, picking Oliver up as he stands.

 

Oliver giggles. “You always drool when you fall asleep on daddy’s shoulder.” Stiles scoffs at Oliver.

 

“That’s a blatant lie,” Stiles says indignantly.

 

“ _That_ was a blatant lie,” Derek counters, laughing. “Who’s gonna wash the dishes?” he asks with a raised brow, unimpressed.

 

“The dishwasher you refuse to use, Derek Hale-Stilinski,” Stiles says pointedly, and walks to the sink to rinse his and Oliver’s plates absently and then places them in the dishwasher carefully, all with Oliver on his hip.

 

“It’s _loud_ ,” Derek whines.

 

“It’s _fast_ ,” Stiles retorts. “ _And_ using it means _I_ don’t have to do the dishes. Come on grumpy face, let’s go put some Pixar on.” Stiles combs his fingers through Derek’s hair, plants a kiss on the top of his head and then squeezes his shoulder on his way over to the living room. Derek sits there for a minute, just ponders on how his life turned around and how he got here, and then he stands up and walks to the living room and sits next to Stiles, who has Oliver on his lap, both talking a mile a minute. Derek wraps an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and brings him close enough to kiss, stopping him mid-sentence. Stiles keeps talking for another second and then gets on board.

 

“Mo-vie!” Oliver calls, breaking them up.

 

“Sorry buddy, I just… _really_ missed daddy,” Stiles apologizes and leans over to kiss Derek’s cheek. Then he leans forward to the coffee table and takes the remote, brings up Netflix. He picks Toy Story, and Oliver claps excitedly. Stiles sags on the couch, leaning more heavily against Derek. He’s asleep in a matter of minutes, snoring softly into Derek’s shoulder. Oliver watches the movie avidly and Derek goes back to reading the book he keeps in the living room, singing along absently and smiling against Stiles’ hair when Stiles magically wakes up in time for “You’ve Got A Friend In Me.” When Derek checks out of curiosity, there are fewer gray hairs on Stiles’ temple, and the tattoos on his arms look a little more vibrant. They’re even…glowing a little.

 

“I’m going to need some time to get used to the whole ‘glowing’ business,” Derek tells Stiles when Stiles smiles up at him. Derek is tracing his fingers over the lines of ink going up Stiles’ right arm and Stiles takes a deep breath, making them glow brighter. “Are you using up energy to do that?” Stiles shrugs and doesn’t say anything but the glowing fades out very quickly. “Are you going to tell me what happened while you ‘had no reception’?” Derek whispers into his hair.

 

“I have a video, just like you asked,” Stiles looks up and winks at Derek, who blushes to the roots of his hair.

 

“I was joking about that!”

 

“I’m not judging, Der. It’s probably the best outcome of the entire thing,” Stiles says conversationally. “And you were totally _not_ joking. You were doing your ‘I’m too Derek Hale to seriously ask for nice things’ thing, and you know I won’t stand for that.”

 

“How would you even know, we were texting,” Derek shrugs, trying to shake that knowing expression off of Stiles’ face.

 

“I always know, babe,” Stiles grins smugly and Derek covers Stiles’ face with his hand. Stiles licks it, because of course he does, so Derek does the same thing he does with Oliver, and wipes it off on Stiles’ cheek. “So when are my dad and Melissa coming?” he asks like it didn’t happen.

 

“Seven-ish? The usual time,” Derek shrugs. He glances at the watch. “Oh, crap, we should probably start actually working on dinner,” he chuckles, then ruffles Oliver’s hair. “Dad and I are gonna go make dinner, you can stay here and watch another movie if you want,” Derek offers, waiting for Oliver’s reaction. Derek can tell he’s debating the merits of getting to watch whatever he wants, versus getting to spend more time with Stiles.

 

“I’m’a watch The Lion King,” Oliver says decisively. Stiles lands another kiss on the top of Oliver’s hair before he and Derek get up and walk over to the kitchen again.

 

“Bet’cha Ollie’s gonna be here in fifteen minutes,” Stiles slurs through a yawn.

 

Derek smiles at him and kisses his prickly cheek, using the opportunity to take a deep long breath of Stiles’ scent. “I think he’ll last thirty, or at least until Mufasa dies,” Derek counters, lifting a sack of potatoes to the kitchen table to start peeling for mashed potatoes.

 

Stiles’ face falls. “Maybe we should talk him into watching something else, he was pretty shaken last time.” He scratches at the back of his head, giving Derek a worried look.

 

“No, that was you. You cried and it freaked him out. He was three, and he was just starting to get a feel for chemosignals,” Derek corrects. “He’ll be fine,” he says with an encouraging smile.

 

“Mufasa gets me _every_ time,” Stiles sighs. “Why does every Disney movie have at least one dead parent?” Stiles whines, walking to the fridge to get the steaks that have been marinating.

 

“Pathos,” Derek says knowingly, tries not to think of just how familiar both of them are with that specific brand of pathos. “Did you come home and immediately make the marinade?” he wonders. He saw it earlier when he was making the grilled cheese but didn’t really think about asking.

 

“Saw them thawing in the fridge, helped them out a little, did the thing. Figured it’d save time and also will make it tastier,” Stiles shrugs. “Then I went to sleep, and next thing I know, our wolf baby tries to give me a heart attack by barging through the door screaming and jumping on my back.”

 

Derek laughs so hard he nicks his finger on the sharp peeler. It heals immediately, so fast that the blood doesn’t even have time to well up. “We missed you way too much,” he says quietly once his laughter dies out and Stiles is smiling at him.

 

“At least you had each other,” Stiles shrugs, then turns on the flame on the stove to heat up the griddle. “Empty hotel beds are the worst,” he huffs. “Even _I_ can tell they smell gross.”

 

Derek laughs again. “So when are you showing me that video? I think potato peeling is the perfect time,” he says with as much nonchalance as he can manage.

 

“Definitely _after_ dinner, possibly not even today. I don’t dig the idea of you giving me the cold shoulder during dinner with my dad, or on my first night home after this long.”

 

Derek does not like the sound of that. “And why would I be giving you the cold shoulder?”

 

“I did some very dangerous things and you’ll be pissed about it,” Stiles explains, very matter-of-fact, placing two steaks on the hot griddle. Derek hears him hiss, knows he burned at least one of his fingers, so sensitive to the smell of burning flesh that he can tell even when it’s the smallest, most insignificant of burns. Derek starts getting up from his chair, but Stiles waves a hand to stop him. “It’s fine, Der, it’s nothing,” he says and turns on the tap, placing three fingers under the rushing cold water.

 

Derek sighs deeply and settles back down in his chair. “I thought you were supposed to grow out of that stuff,” he sounds tired even to his own ears. “I thought we both _did_ ,” he adds quietly.

 

“Out of burning my fingers? That’s probably never gonna happen,” Stiles jokes lamely. He turns off the tap, then grabs a pair of tongs and uses them to flip the steaks over.

 

“That’s not funny.”

 

“My sense of humor is delightful,” Stiles sniffs haughtily, raising his head up and puffing out his chest. He quickly deflates, glancing at Derek as he rubs the back of his neck, guilt written all over his face. “Look, Der, this is what I do. If you weren’t a werewolf, your job would be as dangerous as mine. I think once you get a taste for it you can’t really quit. And we both got one hell of a taste,” he shrugs, gaze fixed on the steaks though his body is turned to Derek. He pokes the meat with the tongs, making the juices ooze and sizzle.

 

Derek pinches his nose just like Stiles does when he’s frustrated. He doesn’t want to agree, but he knows it’s the truth. He finishes peeling and quartering the last potato and walks over to stand next to Stiles, transferring the potatoes from the bowl to the pot of boiling water next to the griddle Stiles is working on. He takes Stiles’ free hand in his, squeezes his fingers. They don’t say anything, and Derek watches Stiles take the cooked steaks off the griddle before placing the other two on it. They both lean against the marble counter, staring at their feet.

 

“I’m sorry I keep doing this to you,” Stiles says after a few minutes of silence where both of them listened to the TV in the other room.

 

Derek kisses him. “I know.” They both take a deep breath in unison, then laugh quietly at the coordination. “Make mine pink,” Derek reminds him, stirring the potatoes with a wooden spoon.

 

“I know how to feed my wolf husband,” Stiles says, echoing Derek’s earlier claim, shoving him away playfully. They both turn when they hear Oliver sniffling loudly. “I’m guessing Mufasa died?”

 

Derek takes a second to tune in. “Yep,” he confirms, and nudges Stiles towards the living room. “I’ll take care of it,” he says when Stiles opens his mouth to talk while pointing at the steaks. Derek listens to Stiles’ whispering reassurances, glancing over to see Stiles cocoon Oliver entirely in a hug. Stiles sits with Oliver to watch the rest of the movie, singing along, getting Oliver to join. Derek finishes preparing the mashed potatoes just as he hears John and Melissa’s car park outside their house, and watches Oliver jump over the back of the couch, landing on all fours and rushing over to the still broken door.

 

Stiles looks at Derek with wide eyes. “I completely forgot about the door.”

 

Derek starts laughing. “I totally forgot too,” he admits. “You should probably do the whole Harry Potter thing and fix it.” He folds his arms over his chest, raising his brows.

 

“It doesn’t work like --” Stiles starts, then backtracks. “I actually don’t know. I haven’t tried,” he says, scratching at his cheek, looking confused. “Also don’t call me Harry Potter,” he adds moodily.

 

“You said Harry Potter magic isn’t real,” John says as he walks inside, sidestepping the splintered wood of the door. “What…” he trails off, looking from the broken hinges to the pieces of the door on the floor.

 

“I broke the door!” Oliver explains excitedly, grinning up at John, and Melissa who joined him and is holding a bowl of salad. John has a cake in his hands.

 

Melissa barks out a surprised laugh and John joins her once he’s over the shock. “Oh my god,” she wheezes. Stiles is the one who grabs the salad bowl out of her hands before she doubles over and Derek takes the cake from John. Both Stiles and Derek are blushing a deep red. Oliver is just grinning, very proud of himself.

 

“When you guys are done, we’re gonna be in the kitchen,” Stiles says eventually, shaking his head, and walks away, placing the bowl of salad on the kitchen table. Derek places the cake on the counter and starts laying out the rest of the food, getting Oliver to take out a bottle of water.

 

When John and Melissa do finally walk into the kitchen, still chuckling quietly every few seconds, the table is set. Neither of them blinks at Stiles’ less-than-presentable attire, and Melissa strains to put on a straight face and wraps Stiles in a tight hug. “It’s good to see you, honey,” she whispers against his cheek after she kisses it.

 

John ruffles Stiles’ hair because he can, pulling him into a tight hug of his own. Melissa kisses Derek’s cheek as well, compliments him on how wonderful the food smells. John pets Derek’s hair and Derek sees Stiles’ mouth turning up into a soft, small smile at the gesture.

 

“Did you help? Or did you just break the door?” Melissa asks cheerfully as she crouches down to face Oliver, caressing his cheek.

 

“Nope, daddy made everything,” Oliver chirps brightly.

 

“Hello, I helped!” Stiles says, offended.

 

“You watched Lion King with me after Mufasa died,” Oliver corrects him.

 

“But I was helping before,” Stiles whines.

 

“You always cried when Mufasa died,” John reminisces. “Remember when you asked me to come pick him up from a sleepover because he was so upset?” He turns to Melissa, smiling fondly.

 

“Unforgettable,” Melissa nods, but it seems like the memory is more painful to her. She doesn’t expand, knows John and Stiles know exactly why it was so unforgettable.

 

“Can we stop talking about this?” Stiles asks carefully.

 

Melissa smiles at him with a soft expression, then her eyes narrow. “Did your temples go completely grey in three weeks?”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Is _everyone_ allowed to have grey hair besides me?” he says dramatically.

 

“Can I have grey hair?” Oliver asks curiously.

 

“Not for real until I’m like, eighty,” Stiles warns. “And it’s temporary, Mel,” he adds. “Just overexerted myself, which manifested in…grey hair.”

 

“That’s never happened before,” Melissa says as they’re all finally sitting at the table, Oliver between Stiles and Derek and John and Melissa across from them.

 

“Dad glows now too! It’s like Christmas lights!” Oliver pipes up excitedly, distracted from watching Derek cut up his steak and piling up mashed potatoes and green beans, making sure none of them are touching on the plate.

 

Both John and Melissa fix Stiles with identical curious and slightly angry looks. Derek snorts. This is going to be fun. Stiles shrinks a little. “What does that mean?” John asks, making his tone neutral. Too neutral.

 

“Dad you gotta show them! Grandpa, it’s _so cool_!” Oliver is oblivious to anything that isn’t his food or the potential of watching Stiles glow again. Derek covers his mouth to hide his smile.

 

“Ollie, not now baby,” Stiles tries to dissuade him gently.

 

“But it’s _so cool_ ,” Oliver emphasizes again.

 

John places the silverware on the sides of his plate, folds his arms over his chest, and waits quietly until Stiles caves. Derek counts back from ten.

 

“Alright, okay, I’ll do it,” Stiles sighs. Derek didn’t even reach five. Then Stiles stands up, steps away from the table. He closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths, and then it happens again. His tattoos are glowing, the exposed ones on his arms and the ones hidden by his shirt (although those glow a little dimmer, the lines are faintly visible beneath the fabric). When Stiles opens his eyes, they’re solid white and glowing too. That didn’t happen earlier and Derek almost flinches. That’s a little too Darach territory for his comfort. “Happy?” Stiles asks, tone bored, and his voice echoes a little, like it’s bigger than the body containing it.

 

“That’s probably the most terrifying thing I’ve seen you do, and I raised you,” John says quietly. Melissa is covering her mouth with her hands, speechless.

 

Stiles blinks a few times until the glow fades away. The house seems to settle around him. He makes a sign that means, “wait a sec,” and walks over to the door. “No way!” they hear him exclaim excitedly. “I totally fixed the door!” he shouts, whoops loudly. Derek bets he pumped his fist in the air. Everyone abandons the dinner table and rush over to look.

 

“I can’t believe you had to look like something from a horror movie just to fix the door. There are people who get paid to do this the normal way,” John huffs.

 

“My entire life is a horror movie. My husband and son are _literally_ werewolves.” Stiles sounds very unimpressed.

 

“But you said Harry Potter stuff was definitely not real!” John argues.

 

Stiles sighs and leads the way back to the kitchen, sitting and helping Oliver up onto his chair. “Can we talk about this some other time? I’m hungry,” he deflects as everyone sits back down.

 

“We’re definitely talking about it,” John concludes. Stiles stuffs a huge bite of mashed potatoes in his mouth and gives John a challenging look. “Fine, not today,” John scrunches his face, admitting defeat. Engaging Stiles in arguments at the dinner table never ends well.

 

“So how was Australia?” Melissa asks like nothing happened.

 

Stiles visibly swallows. “Hot. So, so hot,” he moans miserably. “But pretty, very pretty. Wallabies are the cutest thing. And those Tasmanian Wolves, damn,” Stiles builds up a ramble, until John interrupts.

 

“Swear jar, Stiles,” John says in a bored tone.

 

“Nope, this is my house, and in my house there isn’t a swear jar.” Stiles gives his dad a smug grin.

 

“The swear jar was your college fund at the time,” John says wistfully.

 

“I know, that’s why I made you angry so often. I wanted to go to a good college. But don’t worry, Ollie won’t need one. It’s not under the greatest circumstances, but I can definitely say we’re good on that front,” Stiles shrugs, still smirking. “So no swear jar,” he concludes.

 

“Who _raised_ you,” John shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

 

“I don’t know, probably wolves. I mean, you just mentioned it was you, but if it wasn’t, then I’d definitely go with wolves.”

 

Melissa laughs, surprised at the joke. “Derek, I hope _you’re_ keeping this cute kid civilized?” she teases.

 

“I do my best.” Derek smiles, looking down at Oliver. He wipes away a stray clump of mashed potatoes that somehow ended up on Oliver’s cheek.

 

They keep chatting and teasing each other (mostly Stiles), and when the cake has been eaten, and they’ve moved to the living room, Derek sees Oliver’s eyes start drooping closed where he’s sitting in Melissa’s lap, cuddling in her arms.

 

“I think it’s time someone went to bed,” John says, smiling fondly. Derek takes a picture of Oliver dozing, mouth open against Melissa’s shoulder. It’s adorable.

 

“Tell me about it,” Stiles says and yawns loudly. John smacks his arm playfully and laughs, then stands up. Melissa takes it as her cue to stand and transfer Oliver into Stiles’ waiting arms, and Oliver just curls into Stiles, wrapping himself around him and burying his face in Stiles’ neck. Stiles stands with Oliver octopussed around his torso, and walks John and Melissa to the door with Derek.

 

“I can’t believe you fixed the door,” Derek says with awe, swinging it back and forth, listening to the hinges turn smoother than they did before Oliver broke them.

 

“Me neither, but how cool is that?” Stiles intones excitedly.

 

“Go to sleep,” John reprimands, then wraps his arms around Stiles one last time, kissing his temple, running a finger down it curiously, before hugging Derek too. Melissa kisses both of them on the cheek, then Oliver, who mumbles something that was probably supposed to be goodnight.

 

Once the door is closed, Stiles leans against it and yawns again. “Baths tomorrow. Dishes tomorrow. Sleep now.”

 

It’s only about 9:30pm, but Derek chuckles, says, “Yeah, okay,” and pulls Stiles from the door, turning off whatever lights are on, on their way up the stairs. Stiles places Oliver in his bed and undresses him carefully, doesn’t bother redressing him in pajamas before rolling him carefully under the covers. Stiles sits there for a minute, watching Oliver’s chest rise and fall slowly, peacefully, and pushes his hair back from his forehead. Oliver smacks his lips and turns to lie on his stomach and Stiles kisses the back of his head before he stands up carefully. Derek bends down for his own goodnight kiss, then wraps his arm around Stiles’ waist and leads him across the hall into their bedroom, shutting the door behind them. Derek listens to Oliver breathe for a moment, marvelling at just how much easier it is to put him down when Stiles is home, how much more settled he is.

 

Derek wraps Stiles in his arms, chest pressed to Stiles’ back, and kisses down his neck, from behind his ear all the way down to his shoulder. Stiles lets his head fall to the side to allow Derek to explore a little further. “Sleep-sleep, or…?” Derek asks, trailing off.

 

Stiles turns around in his arms and wraps himself around Derek. “Morning sex is _so much_ better than ‘Stiles is going to fall asleep mid-handjob’ sex,” he says apologetically, and Derek laughs quietly, kissing his cheek where it’s pressed against his.

 

“Fair enough,” Derek concedes, then walks Stiles backwards until his knees hit the bed and he sits down, languid and pliable. Derek helps him undress, kissing every bit of skin he exposes. When he’s down to his boxers, the ratty, comfiest pair, that used to be black but are now a faded dark grey, Derek tucks him under the covers and strips himself, crawling into the bed next to Stiles, who automatically, even though he’s mostly asleep, wraps himself around Derek, tangling their legs together.

 

Derek can finally, after three long weeks, rest easy knowing his son is sleeping soundly in his bed, and his husband, his stupid, reckless, amazing, awe-inspiring husband, is home and sleeping next to him in _their_ bed.

 

He can’t wait for tomorrow.


End file.
